Tapestries Tear
by Tsona
Summary: COMPLETE! Draco, having fled LV, returns to Hogwarts but has to battle scorn from all four Houses; the influence of LV, who can still access his mind; and his DEs at Hogwarts. With so few allies and so many enemies can Draco trust anyone? And survive?
1. A Hero's Return

_A/N: First, forgive the very long author's note and bear with me; I will stick only to the important stuff here. This fanfiction is a sequel to my earlier _Death Eaters Don't Cry_. That story recounts Draco's struggles against Voldemort's rule and his narrow escape from the Dark Lord to Hogwarts and Dumbledore. This story picks up in March of 1996 (_OotP_), two weeks after the last one left off. Yet, this story was born before the publication of Book 5 and so, though I have tried to remain as true as possible to JKR's timeline, this story diverges from hers on some points. Know, then, that the twelve Death Eaters have recently escaped Azkaban, the Order of the Phoenix is working from Grimmauld Place, and Harry's dreaming about the Department of Mysteries, but Umbridge is thankfully still no more than Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Percy still living at the Burrow and on speaking terms with his family, though not an Order member, I don't think (he's not at school anymore, of course, so that's not an important detail). With these deviations in mind, and the previous story's basic plot in your back pocket, I leave you now to enjoy the second story in my fanfiction series. Cheers! No, one last point: Fanfiction's latest updates have again messed with my formatting. I imagine one day, I will update all of the chapters, but for now there are chapters without any chapter breaks in them. If anyone knows what keyboard symbols are not cut in the HTML, PLEASE let me know. I don't want to have to upload every chapter of every story and then edit them to add in an aesthetically unpleasant gray line. Thank you!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, places, concepts, etc., yada yada, though my Draco and my Malfoy Manor differ perhaps enough from JKR's that I could conceivably take _some_ credit, though for safety's sake I won't. I do, however, own Alana O'Toule, Callous Boor, and several minor characters too unimportant to be mentioned here. More importantly I must tell you that Kari Ollivander is the brain child of my dear friend Ryuujin Dragon King (also known as Syrinx Flute), and I know from past experience, she would like me to inform you it is pronounced Kar-ee not Kare-ee._

_Special thanks goes to wolfy 65, who beta-read this story (in its original form) for me. Thanks so much, girl! You've no idea, really... The Draco inside my head thanks you too! ;-)_

_When shall I be dead and rid_

_Of the wrong my father did?_

_How long, how long, till spade and hearse_

_Put to sleep my mother's curse?_

_-T. H. White, __The Queen of Air and Darkness_

Draco sat, staring fiercely into the mashed potatoes he was substituting for a full meal, having little appetite nowadays, and continued to do so even as a bit of potato, flung from some Slytherin's spoon, splattered across his shoulder. He'd found it was easier to ignore their sniggers and raucous laughter if he was concentrating on something else, like the model of his father's face he was trying to make out of the lumpy side dish for the sole purpose of crushing it mercilessly beneath the prongs of his golden fork.

He had expected better treatment from the Slytherins, to whom he had once been a hero of sorts, a standard bearer if naught else, someone to rally beside rather than against. He could only suppose that the cruelty he encountered now at their hands came from news that he had deserted the Death Eaters. Even with many Death Eaters shipping their children to Durmstrang Institute, where the Dark Lord had taken up residence with those Death Eaters unable to come out in public, either because they were fugitives or, in the case of Wormtail, were supposed to be dead, there were still enough here to begin rumors.

He had hoped too that the staff might be willing to offer him the second chance he'd come to Hogwarts in search of. Having Apparated to the school several weeks ago, he had run straight to Dumbledore with his confession. He had offered Dumbledore information, offered allegiance, and had been granted a bed in return. He had hoped Dumbledore's trust and lenience would be enough for the staff, but it was not reflected in the cold glares, the curt responses he received from most of the professors. The caretaker Argus Filch it seemed had set his cat, Mrs. Norris, to tail Draco in the hopes of catching him at Dark magic and having an excuse to drag out his whips and thumbscrews before shipping him to Azkaban.

From the other Houses, he had really expected no better. His lengthy absence from the school and sudden return were bound to raise suspicions. Even as he lay in the hospital wing, hidden behind cotton curtains and given a wider than usual berth by the nurse, Madam Pomfrey, the rumors about him had flown through the school so that by the time Dumbledore told him he could return to the Slytherin dorms and classes, the whole school seemed to know that Draco Malfoy had been trained as a Death Eater and most seemed convinced that he had come back to Hogwarts as a spy. Draco suspected these rumors were started by Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. He had run into them on his way to Dumbledore and, even as soon as that, Potter had accused him of as much. The Great Hall, though Draco tried to avoid it at its most crowded times (today, for example, he had rushed to lunch, having already packed his schoolbag for afternoon classes, in the hopes of getting away before the bulk of the school could arrive), was filled with an odd, malicious buzzing and, every so often, some first year would stand up to catch a better view of him. Even the Hufflepuffs, known for being just, were not bothering to keep their voices down as they gossiped, passing snide comments about him behind his back, or even straight to his face.

"He's spying, 'Lani! Do you walk around all day with yours ears shut?" hissed a girl behind Draco.

"Really, Kari, I'm sure-"

Draco didn't bother to glance about, not caring who it was, and at any rate not up to a retort.

"Alana, don't!" another voice added.

Draco shoved some of the mashed potatoes into his mouth. He nearly spit them out when there was a light tap upon his shoulder; his fork clattered to the plate when he jumped. He spun around, his hand dived for his wand, and whipped it from his pocket. He kept it near his lap, but pointed at the girl who hovered behind him. She had a forced smile, worried brown eyes, and locks of tawny hair that her hands twisted as she looked down on him. Draco didn't recognize her.

"Er, hi, um, Malfoy- Draco?" she said awkwardly.

The babble of the Slytherins nearest him had stopped as had some of the talk from the Gryffindor table beside theirs. Draco's eyes slid past the girl's school robes and toward two very white, Gryffindor faces staring at the pair of them. One he recognized from her freckles, secondhand robes, patched schoolbag, and brilliant red hair as Ginerva Weasley, the youngest of the hated clan; the other with a mop of spiked brown hair was unfamiliar.

"You're a Gryffindor," Draco said slowly.

"Er, yeah, I am," the girl confirmed.

"What are you doing here? Come to ask me if I'm a Death Eater? Have you a death wish?"

"No!" the girl gasped.

"Go back, Gryffindor," sneered one of the Slytherins seated across from Draco, along the row; even the Slytherins tended to give him a wide berth, leaving seats nearest him empty. Draco thought he recognized Callous Boor's voice, but didn't look around to find out, too busy scrutinizing the girl's face. "We don't like your kind here."

"I know that," the girl said, her fists balling by her sides. Her thick twist of hair came undone slowly. "But apparently you don't like Malfoy here, either."

"Keep me out of this, Gryff," Draco muttered, warning.

The girl's dark eyes snapped onto Draco at once. There was a fire behind them, an intensity that Draco thought might scald him. "Do you want to stay here with them?" she asked suddenly.

Though it didn't burn, that blaze did daze him. Just a little. "What?"

"I can't imagine you like being flung with bits of food-" Draco colored and quickly brushed the mashed potato from his shoulder "-so come and sit with us and-"

"Sit with you?" Draco asked, eyes narrowing. "At Gryffindor?"

"Beats sitting here, doesn't it?"

Draco let out a bark of laughter. "Between potatoes and curses, Gryff, I'll take the potatoes." He spun back around in his seat and lowered his head over his plate, a clear dismissal he thought, but the girl remained, her voice a low murmur.

"No one will curse you, Malfoy."

"Someone really ought to introduce you to your own House. Does the name Potter ring a bell? Or Weasley?"

"They're not here yet," the girl said. "Come and sit with us."

"Bet your friend Ginerva won't like it."

"She'll live," the girl assured him.

"Shame."

"You coming or aren't you?" the girl snapped.

"I hit a nerve," he grinned.

"Maybe they're right. You are impossible."

Draco thought he heard her footsteps pounding back to her seat and glanced up to see the leering grins of the Slytherins across from him, further along the bench.

"You must really look awful," a sixth year girl with a hard face sneered. "I mean, I'd noticed- we've all noticed- but when the Gryffindor girls are taking pity on-"

"Bug- off," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"Ooh!" the girl's friend squealed from beside her. "Whatcha gonna do to me, eh, Malfoy? What friends are you going to call on now? I mean, who would miss you if-"

"Gryffindor!" Draco jumped from his seat, snatched up the strap of his schoolbag, and crossed the gap between their two Houses. The girl with the tawny hair looked around and a grin spread across her face, smoother now in the company of her friends and House. "That offer still available?"

She positively beamed as she shifted sideways and made room for him between herself and the girl with spiked hair. Draco was glad it was not between herself and Ginerva Weasley.

He let himself flop down into the seat before glancing nervously around. His gaze was greeted by Gryffindors' glowers so that this view looked not much different from the one he had had of Slytherin, though perhaps a bit more red. He glanced around the backs of the girls and up at the staff table. Professor Dumbledore was talking to Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, but his eyes were on Draco and the corners of his mouth twitched from beneath his white mustache. Snape's dark eyes were on him too, their expression unreadable, and McGonagall's mouth had become quite thin.

"Um, Malfoy, you okay?" asked the girl from before.

"New view of the world. The hall looks different from here," he said smoothly, looking back at her. Her brown eyes were a little round, even though she was smiling. Did Draco really look so awful? He tried to catch a glimpse of himself in her eyes, but wouldn't trust the drawn cheeks and purple shadows of the reflection, distorted as it was.

"Erm, in a good way?"

"You're not very good at small talk, are you?"

"Listen, Malfoy, you creep," Ginerva Weasley snarled from beside her friend, who looked a little discomfited. "I'd be a mite more grateful if I were you. Alana's about the only person in this school likely to give you the time of day, so-"

"Is this a habit of yours?" Draco asked the girl, Alana. "Trusting the untrustworthy?"

"Well- I-"

"Yes," said her spiky-haired friend from Draco's other side, buttering herself a roll. "She's still convinced Sirius Black must have had his reasons." The girl rolled her eyes toward the enchanted ceiling, a pearly white today with the low cloud cover and strong sun behind.

"She has good sense, then," Draco said, reaching for a bun. Ginerva Weasley looked away.

"He's not-?" Alana had flushed pink and her eyes had grown wide.

"No," Draco said. "But that's a long story and you'll soon have to leave for class, I think."

"Watch it, Malfoy," Weasley grumbled.

Draco shot her a glance- her brown eyes darted away from him. "I'm sorry, Weasley, did you want to tell that story? I imagine you know, close as you are to Potter."

"Shut up," Weasley said again.

"So, Alana, is it?" Draco asked, looking away from Ginerva.

Alana nodded and gestured to Weasley. "I guess you already know Ginny." Ginny scowled at him in response to his curt nod. "And this is Kari Ollivander." The girl on Draco's other side waggled a few fingers at him.

"Alana what?" he pressed.

"O'Toule," was Alana's reply, but Draco's head whipped around at the sound of another voice.

"Harry, you're not supposed to be seeing these things anymore!"

Hermione Granger's voice was a whine and the face she revealed by pushing aside a lock of bushy brown hair was anxious as she stared into Harry Potter's stiff expression. The green eyes behind their round glasses were hard, but unfocused.

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ronald Weasley, Ginvera's next elder brother said as he continued up the small corridor between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables. His blue eyes roved away across the table, searching for seats no doubt. Draco stiffened.

"Now you're going to get it," Ginerva sneered.

"Ginny!" Alana hissed.

But Ginny was right. Perhaps her flaming hair had drawn her brother's eyes for they grew wide as they caught Draco's glance. "OI!"

Draco quickly looked away. His hands clenched in his lap.

Weasley was in front of them before Draco had had time to blink; he might have Apparated, but Draco had heard his heavy, running footfalls. The redhead towered over Draco where he sat, as he demanded of his younger sister, "Ginny, what the-"

Potter was beside him now, shorter but at least as menacing with his narrowed eyes and mop of black hair that seemed to blot out the weak sunlight streaming from the high windows. "You'd better have a good explanation for this."

"I argued against it," Ginny said easily.

"Nice to have your support, Gin," Alana muttered from beside Draco. He chanced her a quick sideways glance. She was staring into her lap.

"You did this, O'Toule?" Weasley demanded.

"I did." Alana's head came up and her brown eyes met Ron's wide, blue ones steadily.

"Why?" Weasley gasped.

Potter's gaze was fixed on Draco instead of Alana, trying to catch his glance.

"I had to!" Alana cried suddenly and Draco found his head whipping round to stare at her. Draco noticed that several other Gryffindor faces spun toward them, too, to listen. A hush was falling over the surrounding seats. Alana pressed on, perhaps oblivious to these ominous signs. "Listen, Ron, I really don't think- The Slytherins don't like him either. He can't be so bad, then, can he?"

"No one likes a traitor," Potter growled darkly.

Though Draco kept his gaze averted, afraid his retinas would be burned by the heat of Potter's glower, he couldn't resist muttering, "No, Potter, they don't."

"Besides-" Potter continued. Draco couldn't be sure he had heard his comment, but his eyes seemed to darken even further, the fire behind them char more of the brilliant green. "-I notice about ten percent of the Slytherins seem to have vanished. Where are they, Malfoy, eh? Did you leave them back with your precious Voldemort?"

All of them shuddered, except Draco noted with some surprise, the Mudblood Granger, who was at Ron's shoulder now too.

"Why would I tell you that, Potter?"

"Hermione," Ron demanded suddenly, "isn't there something in the Hogwarts rule book about sitting at the wrong table?"

"Oh no, don't!" Alana moaned. "Don't send him back!"

"No, Ron, I'm afraid not." Draco chanced a glance at Granger. She looked quite at a loss and ran a hand through her tangle of brown locks. "Percy used to go sit with the Ravenclaws all the time, remember? When he was with Penelope."

"Oh yeah. But," Weasley said, perking up almost immediately, "can't we just order him to-"

"No." It was Potter who answered. "Rules won't help us. Not where Malfoy's concerned. He wouldn't obey them anyway. Would you?"

"Rule breaking has always been more your thing, Potter, I generally don't get caught at-"

"Rules won't help," Potter overpowered him. "But I bet threats could."

"Threats? Potter, honestly, does it have to come to-"

"I'm wise to you, Malfoy. I know what you came back for."

"For the last, bloody time, I'm not a _spy_!"

"Anything you ask O'Toule, anything you try and get out of her, Ginny will let us know, won't you, Ginny?"

Alana followed Harry's eyes to Ginny.

"I'm afraid Ron might insist, Alana," Ginny said quietly.

"Right," Potter went on. "So you're being watched. And not just by Ginny. By me and Ron and Hermione too."

"Oh, Harry-" Hermione interjected.

Potter leaned further over the table, staring at Draco. It had the desired effect: Draco met Potter's eyes and held them, the others fading from view in the blackness of his eyes. "And if you hurt any of them- especially Ginny- I will personally hex you with such hexes you'll wish you'd never laid eyes on Hogwarts, you understand?"

Draco thought that perhaps he ought to feel some nervousness, but instead his blood was boiling just below the surface of his skin, the fire, he thought, was in his eyes, and his fingers tingled with a desire to close about the hawthorne wood of his wand, which he had dropped back in his pocket when he had left Slytherin. "I'm sure, Potter," he said quietly, keeping the fight between Potter and himself, "that the Dark Lord's nothing compared to you, is he?"

"Don't give me that!" Potter snarled. "I bet you've spent the last few months just cozying right up to him, haven't you, Malfoy? I'm surprised he doesn't have you on a leash yet. Or is it just hidden?" Potter pointed a sharp finger at Draco's left forearm.

Draco drew his arm further toward him, his mouth falling open, and tugged at the sleeve to ensure it kept covered the gruesome tattoo etched there. It was as though Potter could see through the tight knit of his grey jumper. "Don't- Don't you dare, Potter- You've no idea what I've-"

Draco would have dearly loved to have shouted his whole story at Potter at that moment, to have acquitted himself once and for all, to have been able to see the stunned look on Potter's stupid face, but what, he reminded himself as his teeth ground together, if the Slytherins didn't have the whole story? What if they reacted worse to the truth than the scattered fragments that they were likely to have heard? Draco wasn't about to hand them the quill for his own death warrant.

Potter smirked. "I seem to have _touched_-" he said, emphasizing the word, "on something. Yes, I'm sure he must make life so difficult for you," Potter continued. "What, are the Death Eaters' robes not hand-tailored?"

"Shut up, Potter! Don't you-"

There was a slight cough behind Draco and he looked up into Professor McGonagall's stern face below the brim of her tartan hat. "Is there a problem here?" Her sharp eyes roved over all of them.

"No, Professor," Potter said quickly.

"Good," McGonagall said crisply. "Then, Potter, I suggest you, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger go find your seats. It will reflect poorly on me and your House if you're late for Potions."

"Yes, Professor," Potter said again, dropping his gaze.

Professor McGonagall turned away back toward the staff table and Potter, after watching her for some paces, shot Draco another glare and murmured, "Remember what I said, Malfoy," before leading his friends further down the row.

"Servile git," Draco muttered to the golden plate with his half-eaten bun.

Potter's eyes swung round to him and his lip rose in a snarl, but he didn't dare draw his wand. Draco smiled at the plate.

"I'm sorry," Alana whimpered beside him.

Draco looked around. He had almost forgotten she was there, except that, even as his vision tunneled in his combat with Potter, he had felt a presence beside him- something that was quickly becoming rare- the cotton of her open robe just brushing against his jeans. "For what?"

"I didn't mean to get you into trouble. I only meant-"

"Those three aren't trouble," Draco assured her, forcing a weak smile. "Just annoying gits who are too full of themselves to think they're ever wrong about anything."

"They're not!" Ginerva argued quickly. "They're better than you are, anyway," she spat.

"Of course," Draco sighed, "because if your precious Potter's involved-"

"My _what_?"

Draco smirked. "_'His eyes are as green as a pickled toad-'_" he quoted beneath his breath.

Ginerva turned a dangerous red from the scooped neckline of her jumper to the tips of her flaming hair. "You-" she growled. "You-" But apparently, Ginny could not think of any name foul enough for Draco, who merely smiled in her direction. "I'll see you both at Hagrid's!" she fumed and snatched her bag from the floor. She managed to whack Draco firmly across the back with it as she charged past.

"Ginny! Wait!" Kari Ollivander leapt from her seat, grabbed her bag too and dashed after her friend.

Draco watched her go, then turned to Alana, who sat still in her seat, her eyes on Ginerva's head of red curls before it was lost beyond the wide doorway to the Great Hall. She did not seem to notice Draco's stare.

"Well?" Draco asked her quietly. "Aren't you going to go after her too?"

Alana dragged her brown eyes away from her friends, glimpsed Draco, then quickly turned her gaze into her lap. "She just needs some time to cool off."

"I won't mind," Draco prodded. "I've grown used to it."

Alana lifted her dark eyes to his face, watched him from behind lighter lashes. "I won't leave you, Malfoy. Unless you want me to, but I don't think you do."

Draco shrugged, but said nothing, merely took another bite from the bun on his plate.

"You shouldn't have done that," Alana said seriously, her dark eyes on him.

Draco felt his smile slip a little to match hers. "Maybe not," he agreed. "I'm still getting the hang of this "being good" concept. It was a laugh though, that song."

Draco could tell Alana was trying to bite back a grin as she sunk her teeth into her lower lip. "She worked hard on that," she said, not quite managing this time to sound grave. "And besides, she was only eleven."

* * *

Draco and Alana parted company some ten minutes later in the entrance hall.

"Listen, Malfoy, if you want a seat at dinner-"

"You had better be careful, O'Toule," he smiled. "People will start wondering about you too."

Alana frowned at him. "It's just an offer."

"I'll think about it," Draco promised.

Alana seemed to know this was best she was going to get from him. She beamed at him again, a kind of brilliant flash that Draco, unused to such expressions, was finding a little blinding; he cut his eyes away from her. "Have a good class, then!"

She took off through the crowd, but she had not gone more than a few steps, when Draco stopped her. "Hey, Gryff!"

She turned curious eyes on him.

"Tell Weasley I'm- Well, tell her I maybe ought not to have-"

Alana's smile flashed again. "I'll tell her, Draco," she said and skipped out the oaken front doors. Draco watched her, her tawny hair flouncing against her shoulders as she jogged down the stairs.

It was with a sinking heart that Draco turned away from the weak sunlight and headed across the entrance hall to the narrow staircase into the dungeons for Potions class.

_A/N: Well, there you are. I think this opening chapter may be much better than the previous one. I'm thankful because I wasn't sure if editing DEDC was really any improvement. Perhaps you can't compare, but all the same I'd welcome any comments, even flames if that's what you have for me, about this chapter (and all the ones following). Cheers! Carry on._

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	2. Conversations Over a Drunk

_A/N: Hooray! Chapter two! A bizarre little chapter which deviates from the story set up in the last chapter and returns to the one set up in _Death Eaters Don't Cry_. We meet up again with everyone's favorite little house-elf. There are also a few tiny objects/places that were mentioned in OotP that I thought I'd drop in here to prove that I HAD read the book, even if I'm generally ignoring the plot line of said book._

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Potions was as bad as expected. Unable to concentrate due to suppressed, rampant emotions and thoughts firmly centered elsewhere, Draco somehow managed to melt his cauldron into a twisted blob of pewter. He could still hear the class' laughter echoing in his head as he made his way alone to Transfiguration; Snape had had to actually raise his voice to quiet them all. Most clear in his mind was Neville Longbottom's. Longbottom's notoriously bad memory and deep fear of Professor Snape had often before led to Potions accidents: melted cauldrons, fires, and broken glass. Draco had always ridiculed him relentlessly for these. He had hoped Longbottom might be a forgiving sort and forgo the opportunity of revenge for those occasions. But when he saw Longbottom in the corridors later that day, his glance was met with a smirk from Longbottom, who quickly looked away, and a glower from Potter, who was a few steps ahead. A gaggle of Hufflepuff girls walking behind the Gryffindors snickered when they saw him and began to whisper. Already news of his meltdown was spreading through the school.

At least those few Slytherin classmates he had left kept quiet about the incident as Professor McGonagall explained the day's task.

Entering the common room before dinner that night to drop off his bag, however, he was greeted by a few hearty guffaws from the Slytherin sixth years.

"Hey! Hey, Malfoy!" one of them called. "We were wondering, was your cauldron supposed to be some sort of message to the other Death Eaters--"

"Or a visual representation of what's left of your soul, Malfoy?" his friend finished. Beneath heavy laughter, the two boys exchanged high-fives and Draco stalked silently past and through the door to the boys' dorms.

He passed Blaise Zabini, his sole dorm-mate, but the tall African was as silent as ever, not even bothering to look at Draco.

He threw his book bag onto the bed and looked glumly about the room, carefully avoiding the looking-glass in the corner. He didn't want dinner, he didn't want to have to see anyone, to endure anymore of their taunts, their whispers, their glares and sneers. His eyes were drawn to the stone fireplace where a few logs were being gnawed on by low flames, throwing long, greyish shadows from the two lone beds, the trunks of the boys, the cheval glass, tangling in the deep green velvet of the beds' hangings. With just a pinch of Floo powder he might have escaped by it, but he had no where at all to go, no where safe.

A log snapped in the fire and the pile crumbled, dropping hot coals on the grate's flag.

What he really needed was someone to talk to, someone sympathetic. But he didn't dare risk the Great Hall to look.

---

He wandered distractedly down the deserted basement corridor some fifteen minutes later, passing only a few sniggering Hufflepuff fourth years on their way up to the Great Hall. He was glad to be alone and away from the menacing glares and accursed whispers of the other students. Having traveled the same path many times before, he did not pay for his absentmindedness and soon found himself facing a painting of the silver fruit bowl halfway down the passageway. He halfheartedly tickled the green pear in the picture, which gave a shrill giggle and transformed into a giant pear-green doorknob. Draco gave it a wrench and the painting swung forward on its hinges to reveal an enormous room whose high ceiling rose up into oblivion. Dozens upon dozens of brass pots and pans were heaped all around the wide room and the strong smell of baking and brewing wafted enticingly toward him from all sides. In the center of the room, heavy-laden with dishes and platters, stood four long tables, which mirrored those in the Great Hall a floor above, and a fifth that reflected the raised staff table.

A few of the Hogwarts house-elves glanced briefly up from their work as he made his way through the kitchen toward the great, brick fireplace on the opposite side. Draco's grey eyes roved over them all, searching out the one who had previously been employed at Malfoy Manor. He would be easy to spot. After being set free, Dobby had taken it upon himself to find the most outlandish clothes with which to outfit himself-- a pair of shining shorts with stripes down the side, a maroon sweater, a tie patterned with horseshoes, and a tottering pile of woolen hats were all staples-- perhaps in the spirit of rebellion; Draco's father had always kept him on a tight rein. All the surrounding elves, however, wore the uniform tea towel tied like a toga and stamped with the Hogwarts crest: lion, serpent, badger, and eagle surrounding a large letter 'H'.

Neither was Winky, a great friend of Dobby's and the only other freed elf within the confines of the castle, at her usual place before the fire, seated atop the short, wooden stool. Draco had hoped perhaps to find Dobby flitting about her trying to make her crack a rare smile. Winky had been very distressed by her dismissal from labor almost two years ago, having been raised to believe that to be free was to be disgraced. She had taken to drinking to drown her woes and it had become an unfortunate habit of hers to overdo it. It was not considered abnormal for her to pass out from overdose. What could have driven her from her stool, Draco could not imagine. Surely she hadn't wandered off on her own? Had Dumbledore sent her away and Dobby perhaps gone with her? Without saying goodbye?

Draco's search for Dobby became more desperate, but there was no sign of brilliant color among the white of the Hogwarts' uniforms.

There was nothing else for it. Draco stopped a passing house-elf.

The elf that turned to him had large, amber eyes, a nose the exact shape and size of a grape, and a politely curious expression. "You is wanting Bozy, sir?" she asked in a high squeak of a voice.

"Er... yeah," Draco replied somewhat nervously. "Do you know where Dobby is? Or Winky?"

The elf's expression became suddenly dark and Draco remembered too late that the elves considered Winky with her drinking habit and Dobby with his ecstasy at being freed a disgrace to them all. Nevertheless, the elf responded, "Bozy knows, sir. They is in the Come and Go Room, sir."

"The what?"

"Seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, sir," the elf called Bozy recited.

"Er, thanks," Draco said, turning back around. Wondering what Dobby and Winky could possibly be doing on the seventh floor during dinner, Draco crossed the kitchens and hurried out of the basement to the upper floors. Hoping not to be noticed, he passed quickly by the open doors to the Great Hall, from which drifted the smell of food and the babble of happy chatter, calling him inside. He felt a small pang of quiet yearning as he sprinted past and thought longingly of a time-- maybe even a time in the near future-- when he could join his carefree peers, free from the shadows of the past. He could not help recalling his first four years at Hogwarts when he had always been a central part of a group, never alone-- not physically, not exiled. Part way up the first flight, he peeked over his shoulder and found his eyes drawn to the packed Gryffindor table.

Alone in an empty corridor on the seventh floor, Draco glanced over at a tapestry depicting a wizard being clubbed by a gang of trolls, having tried to teach them ballet. This was the tapestry Bozy had mentioned....

Turning, he found himself facing a highly polished, cherry door that he had never noticed once before in his four years at Hogwarts. Feeling slightly apprehensive, having had some experience with dangerous magical objects and their methods of concealment, he walked toward it and knocked. What if this was some kind of trick? No. House-elves didn't play tricks; they lived to serve their masters and had a very raw sense of humor.

From the opposite side of the door, Draco heard a high-pitched yelp of surprise or horror, followed by an even higher hiccup. Draco pulled the door cautiously open and stuck his head inside saying, "Dobby?"

The room he found himself in was large and round. Crystal spheres, each cradling about a dozen magically lit candles, floated near the low ceiling, giving a dim light to the narrow room. They looked very much like overlarge soap bubbles. Along the whitewashed walls, shelves ran very low to the ground, bearing ceramic jugs of Albert & Albrecht's All Gone Alcohol Antidote, pillows, blankets, and other assorted objects. In the corner was a small bed, only slightly larger than a doll's, upon which lay Winky, her big, brown eyes unfocused and her mouth slack, her apron and dress stained, torn, and blackened. Above her hovered Dobby, his many clothes immaculate, who, upon hearing his name, gave another nervous squeak, dropped the bottle of Alcohol Antidote he was holding, and spun about in a kind of pirouette that would have made the ballet teacher in the corridor outside proud, though his tower of poorly knitted hats wobbled dangerously between his bat-like ears.

"Master Draco!" Dobby gasped, shuffling aside to try and hide the obviously drunken Winky from view, his emerald green eyes wide and staring. "What is you doing here, sir?"

"Looking for you," Draco replied with a shrug. "Do you mind?"

The elf shook his head, looking thoroughly bewildered. "Is something wrong, Master Draco?"

"Not really. Just...." Draco sighed. "Oh, it's not important, really. Winky okay?" he asked, stepping nearer the elves. He was feeling much calmer now, in the presence of a friend and with the knowledge that Winky had not perished.

Dobby's large, pointed ears drooped slightly. "Winky is been drinking again, sir," he whispered as the elf in question hiccuped loudly from the bed.

"I can see that," Draco said, trying to force a smile as he stood over the bed and the elf beside it. "But she'll be all right, won't she?"

"Oh yes, sir. Dobby is taking Winky up here so that she can rest it off, sir. But she is being better later, yes."

"Good."

"Why isn't Master Draco at dinner?" Dobby asked, looking at him with some concern.

"Didn't feel like it," Draco replied evasively. Then he decided to elaborate; after all, that had been his reason for wanting to find to the house-elf. "I honestly don't know how much more of this I can take, Dobby! Everyone thinks I'm scum and I'm starting to wonder if they're not right."

"Master Draco is _not_ scum!" Dobby answered firmly, casting an eye over the broken bottle of Alcohol Antidote.

"I know you don't think so, Dob. But what if I am, really? What if I can't change? What if I'll always be the evil little flea bag I used to be?"

"You isn't," Dobby assured him, cleaning away the shattered remnants of the red clay jar and its spilled potion, which was a nasty blanched green in color, with a snap of his long fingers.

"Prove it," Draco challenged.

Dobby looked uncomfortable for a moment as he pondered an answer. "You is here, isn't you?" he said slowly. "You isn't with Master and the Dark Lord?"

"Try telling that to the world. Apparently, I'm here on a spy mission," Draco grumbled. He glared out at the bright blue sky beyond the paned window. The fair weather only dampened his spirits. While the rest of the world celebrated, he was left alone and friendless as he always had been and always would be.

"Dobby knows you isn't, sir, and so does you. That ought to be enough."

"It's not enough. Not while everyone is watching my every move, just waiting for me to slip, not when they take every opportunity to push me deeper into the mud. Almost makes me wish for the old days," Draco sighed.

Dobby threw his hands on his hips. "Master Draco mustn't be saying such things!"

"Not with him, Dob, but with... with my mother... and Father, when I had the Slytherins to fall back on at least."

Draco had once had everything, but had never felt quite right about it, had covered a small, dull ache with bravado. He had lost everything in a heartbeat, but the ache had only worsened. Something was missing and though he watched others, but could find no one who seemed truly content, who didn't ache for something too. He watched Potter-- precious Potter, who had no parents, no family to weigh him down, to make decisions for him. Draco envied him, but even Potter complained. He complained about the very unclouded air that Draco envied.

"You think I did the right thing, leaving them, don't you, Dobby?"

"Oh yes, sir," the elf answered, nodding fervently.

Draco sighed, still staring out the window without really seeing it. "Think I'll live long enough that people will start to believe me?" he asked, posing the question that had haunted his thoughts since he had landed in Hogsmeade two weeks ago: How much longer did he have?

Dobby carefully avoided looking at Draco as he answered. "Professor Dumbledore isn't going to let anything happen to Master Draco. Dobby knows it, sir."

"You honestly think he can hold off the Dark Lord?"

Dobby, looking so comical that it was all Draco could do to stop himself from laughing aloud, put his long-fingered hands on the hips of his too-long shorts in indignation. "Yes Dobby does! Professor Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever has! The Dark Lord is _scared_ of Professor Dumbledore!"

"Well," Draco smiled, "all that may be true. However, if the Dark Lord's angry enough with me, he'll find ways around him."

Dobby did not answer but scurried across the room, scooping another bottle of Alcohol Antidote off one of the low shelves and popping the cork.

"Wonder what O'Toule's missing...."

"O'Toule, sir?"

Draco glanced nervously over at Dobby, realizing that he must have spoken out loud without meaning to. Seeing no escape, he answered, cutting his eyes sideways and feeling a flush creep into his cheeks, "Erm, Alana O'Toule. She let me sit with her House at lunch rather than with the Slytherins. She... she has a nice smile, a bright smile."

Dobby's face split into a toothy grin, setting his great eyes alight. "Is Master Draco liking her?" the elf asked mischievously.

Draco's grey eyes snapped back to the house-elf before him, narrowed in anger. "What's _that _supposed to mean?"

"Is Master Draco liking Alana O'Toule?" Dobby repeated in an annoyingly singsong fashion, grinning all the more.

"_Me_? Like a _Gryffindor_?" Draco repeated, flustered by the question. "Dobby, I thought-- You of all people ought to know me better than--" But noticing the elf's lingering grin, he quickly changed tact, "Look. No one's spoken a kind word to me in ages. It's just a nice change, that's all. Really!"

"Whatever Master Draco says, sir," Dobby muttered, still beaming like a fool.

_A/N: Well, what say you? Good chapter? Who doesn't love Dobby? I know I do! Actually, I'm a house-elf fan in general. I thought that bit with Barnabas the Barmy was too funny; I just had to slip it in here. Anyway, thanks for reading, now review!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	3. Broken Barriers

_A/N: No, I cannot in good conscience not dedicate this chapter to wolfy65, an old friend and beta of mine. It's true. These stories would not be the same without her. The least I can do is offer her a plug in a chapter. Thanks, wolfy65! On an unrelated note, I told you I was going to line up this revised fanfiction with JKR's _OotP_ as much as is possible. For those keeping track, this chapter happens two days after Harry's interview with Rita is first released. However, in this AU, Fudge is admitting in a mumble that something is up, but is still entirely incapable of doing anything; Voldemort's gaining as much momentum as he did in _OotP_. But all that means that Harry's interview is not as essential. As Harry was so reluctant to talk about what happened that night, I find it unlikely he'd have opened up to Rita except as an absolute last resort. Times are not quite that desperate, so in this AU, there is no interview._

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Silvery sunshine striped the entrance hall late that morning as Draco entered from the dreary, torchlit dungeons below and blinked. He had crossed the paved stone floor and had almost reached the towering double doors to the Great Hall when he heard a shout of "Hey, Malfoy! Draco!"

Draco turned wearily to face the speaker. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He was already miserable, alone, had lost everything, did they have to constantly remind him? Did they have to ridicule him and make everything worse? At least, three days later, the melted cauldron had begun to fade from people's memories, had lost its allure as gossip. They had returned to asking him questions about the Dark Lord.

Only this morning as he had crossed the Slytherin common room a particularly bold first year had been pushed by his friends into Draco's path and had asked Draco's right foot if it really had lived with the Dark Lord this past year.

Draco had rolled his eyes, sighed deeply, and told the boy, "Yes. We took a lovely cottage by the sea with climbing roses all over the facade and kept a couple pet lambs." Then he had pushed roughly past him.

He did not reach the wall in time to avoid hearing one of the friends whisper, "Do you think he's serious?"

But it was Alana O'Toule jogging down the wide, marble staircase from the upper floors, grinning so broadly he could see it even as she bounded toward him. He remembered his conversation with Dobby, the elf's sly grin. He felt his shoulders stiffen at the sight of her. His hands clenched by his sides. He hadn't seen her since. He hadn't trusted himself near her since.

"What, Gryff?" he asked coldly when she was within speaking distance.

His tone made no impression, it seemed. Now she stood before him with her brown eyes sparkling, staring up into his icy, grey ones unflinchingly. She pushed a loose strand of hair, shining golden in the white sunlight, behind her ear as she asked, "Where've you been? I haven't seen you in ages!"

"If by ages, you mean three days..." He was still avoiding the Great Hall when it was full. He found it was much easier to eat when he didn't have to listen to whispered hints about his infidelity or insanity. And since his conversation with Dobby, he had been scanning the Gryffindor table before entering to check that Alana wasn't there. He wondered how much to tell the inquiring Gryffindor and decided to try and dodge her. "Did you miss me?" he asked with an attempt at kittenishness.

"What will you do if I say yes?"

Draco blinked. In truth he wasn't sure.

"You can stick to the first question if you want," Alana smiled cheekily.

Draco tried to grin back too. "You really want to know?"

Alana nodded.

"Well, then." He thought a moment before continuing. He didn't have to give her the whole truth. "I went to visit a friend, and-"

But he saw Alana gaping at him, clearly alarmed by this news, and quickly elaborated. He'd apparently omitted the wrong bits. "Not like that! It was our old house-elf! It has nothing to do with that!"

Alana sighed so her shoulders dropped. "Oh, good; for a second I thought... But you weren't, so it doesn't matter." She paused uncomfortably, glancing over her shoulder at the open doors to the Hall, through which the seductive smells of pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, and sausage drifted lazily into the bright corridor, wafting towards the pair of them. "Shall we go and have breakfast, then?" she asked in an attempt to cover the awkward moment.

Draco gave the doors an apprehensive glance before nodding mutely and entering the Great Hall, Alana in tow. He was slightly inclined to be angry with her for having listened to the rumors about his continuing alliance with the Death Eaters. But what was he to expect? She had ears. And he knew Ginerva Weasley at least had told her the rumors outright. As was usual, heads turned as he entered, fingers pointed, and friends leant toward one another. He knew what they were discussing and it didn't improve his spirits. He sighed and looked over at both the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables, trying to decide between. Many of the students were glaring at him in an almost challenging fashion. As he began resignedly to make for his own House's table and its jeering occupants, Alana chided, "Don't be ridiculous. You're sitting with us."

He raised an eyebrow as he looked over at her. "You honestly think that's a good idea, Gryff?"

All she said was "Of course" before walking confidently over to one of the long, wooden benches and seating herself beside Ginny Weasley. Draco gave the Slytherin table another uncertain glance before following. They were all watching him in keen, malicious ecstasy.

Alana and Draco ate in near silence. Ginny kept shooting furious, sidelong glances at her friend, which suggested to Draco that she wasn't at all glad of his presence and had expressed this already to Alana, who apparently had ignored the complaints.

When they had finished, which took a surprisingly short time owing to the lack of conversation, Alana asked Draco tensely, "Erm, what are you planning to do today?"

He shrugged in response. The answer was vague, but truthful nonetheless. He hadn't really given it any thought yet.

"Oh. Well, it's Saturday, you know, and if you're not busy... do you want to just... talk?" she asked. She was looking extremely nervous now, twisting her hair like a rope, as she had when she had first approached him, and carefully avoiding Draco's eyes, a pink tinge blooming over her plump cheeks and face.

He wasn't sure whether or not he really wanted to, but before he could make up his mind, he heard himself say, "Sure, why not?" A better response, he later thought, would have been to say, "What else am I going to do?" but this did not come to him now and he found himself getting up and following her out of the oaken front doors and down into the sloping lawns, under the steady glare of Ginny Weasley and the open gawks of all four Houses.

The morning sun was playing on the glassy surface of the lake, throwing out inviting sparks of silvery light. The pair of them collapsed acquiescently in the shade of a beech tree, standing tall beside the lake's rocky shore. They sat in silence for quite some time, Draco staring out over the lake's glittering surface, like diamonds, and Alana watching the dancing shadows of the tree's branches on the ground next to her.

Draco remembered the first time he had seen that glassy lake. It was the smoothest water he had ever seen, used to the crashing, boiling waves that battered Malfoy Manor's headland. He had let his hand dangle over the edge of the little rowboat as it pulled away from the rocky shore, seeming to glide over the mirror glass. Its wake had gleamed silver and gold in the light of Hagrid's lamp, the twinkling reflections of the lit windows of the castle overhead, and the moon, nearly full.

His Sorting came next: walking toward a stern McGonagall, like a black basalt Pallas, his mind racing with ideas of everything his father would do to Draco if he let him down, if he were put in some wimpy House like Hufflepuff, if he were put in any House really other than Slytherin, how much the House meant to his family, had always meant to his family, the Great Hall a blur of twinkling candles and plates and goblets and eyes. Would he still be a Malfoy if he were put elsewhere? Was he still- Draco shuddered, shook his head. He chanced a glance at Alana beside him. She was pulling absently at a sward of grass and had not seemed to notice. "So," he said to overwhelm his own thoughts, "have anything in particular you wanted to talk about or should I go grab my Potions essay?"

Alana glanced up, looked back down quickly, sliced the sward she had plucked in twain with a nail, the juice dying its white tip green. "Well, actually... there- there is... something," she stammered.

"Oh, well, good. I didn't honestly feel like explaining the proper production of a Babbling Beverage anyway. What is it, then?"

She gave him another nervous glance before responding, plucking at more grass swards by her knee. "I want to help you Draco," she said, her face pink once again. But it's like you've built these impenetrable walls around yourself and none of us can break through them."

Draco thought he suddenly understood. It was as though a lamp had flickered on in his brain. A bonfire of a lamp, blaring up red hot inside him. He felt his anger come rushing toward the surface, like a snake rearing, preparing itself to strike. "God! why didn't I see it? I know what this is about! I've been wondering why you were being so nice to me. I should've known," he chided himself.

Alana stared at him, obviously flustered. "Wha-?"

"You're after something, aren't you?" he accused, pointing a long, pale finger at her.

"What?" she yelped. "No!"

"If it's galleons you want, you can forget it!" he yelled. "I've been disowned. My parents wouldn't give me a knut if I was out on the streets begging!"

Alana stared at him still, but there was compassion now behind the astonishment. "Draco, it's nothing like that! Honest! I don't want anything from you, I just-"

"Then what the hell _do_ you want, O'Toule?"

Alana wouldn't look at him as she spoke and he began to feel slightly guilty about yelling at her. After all, he didn't have any proof of his claims. Yet. "I only want to help," she muttered, staring at the shadowed ground, a patchy sunlight flittering in and out of sight as the leafy branches swayed in the breeze.

"Help? I don't need help," Draco snarled, standing up and turning away. He felt the blood boiling in his veins and thought it best to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

But as he began to move away, Alana reached up and grabbed his hand. Her touch was like nothing he had ever felt before and it made him stop dead. It wasn't the bear-like grip of his father on his wrist. Or the gentle butterfly-brush of his mother's sculpted marble hands, scared any pressure from her would break him. It was certainly not the Dark Lord's icy graze or long-fingered vise. Alana's touch was soft and warm and steady against his cold skin. But it left him in control. He could break free; she didn't hold him. He turned round to ogle at her, totally thrown by this new sensation, his grey eyes round and wide in surprise.

"Draco, don't go. Please?"

Caught off guard and only vaguely aware of what he was doing, he sank back down to the ground beside her, her hand still wrapped about his. He just stared at her in open bewilderment and she smiled encouragingly back. She shifted her hand very slightly so that it was clutching his in a gentle grasp. She pulled it closer to her and said quietly, "You know you can trust me, Draco. I swear, I won't tell a soul. Just tell me what's wrong. Tell me everything."

And to his own surprise as much as hers, he did. He told her everything. How his parents had left him to be raised by Dobby; how they had hardly given him a thought, let alone speak with him; how he would receive harsh punishments for even the smallest of crimes; how it didn't matter how many times he pleaded that he hadn't known or hadn't meant to; his father's use of the Cruciatus Curse on him. He told her, too, of how, at school, he had always felt he couldn't relate to the people around him, happy and carefree; and how he had never really been able to make decisions on his own because he lived in fear of what his parents would do if he disregarded what they had taught him; how they expected him to act as a Malfoy and a future member of the Dark Order. He told her how he had felt when Dobby had left, and how he had had to return to the Manor where he knew he'd have no one to talk to. He told her how his father had brought him to Durmstrang to fulfill his destiny and become one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters without even first asking what he thought of the idea, and of the misfortunes that had befallen him there, the Dark Lord's peculiar interest. The sun was setting as he drew to a close, the sky was splashed with purples, peaches, and pinks. "And now I'm here and everyone thinks I'm just like they are! But I'm not! I'm not one of them at all! And no one'll even give me a chance to explain!"

He glanced over at Alana, whose grip on his hand had become steadily tighter throughout his tale and was now almost painful. There were tears in her eyes as she gazed at him. It was a while before she was able to speak. When she could, she whispered, a little brokenly, "Oh, Draco! I'm so sorry! I never knew!"

Draco found he couldn't look at her and so stared blankly out at the painted surface of the lake, the dark castle above reflected in its glasslike waters. A few of the windows were lit already, yellow lights in the monotonous black of shadowy stone. He didn't see any of this. The relating of his story had brought back to him visions, flashes of all the horrors he had spoken of, and they were now being played back to him in his mind's eye. His father's haughty look, the indifference in his eyes, in his tone, the same expression he took with business partners. His Auntie Bellatrix's wild, grey eyes alight with a fire of almost fanatical pride that scared him all the more for being wholly unfamiliar. The Dark Lord advancing on him with a drawn wand, Draco's trembling self reflected in his slit pupils, surrounded by pools of blood. "Don't," he muttered halfheartedly. "It's not like it's your fault. You didn't do any of it."

"But that doesn't mean I couldn't have helped you if I'd bothered to notice what was going on," she argued. "I could've, but I didn't. And all because you were in Slytherin and I was a Gryffindor," she finished, her eyes gleaming wet.

There was a moment's awkward pause before Draco found himself wrapped in Alana's embrace. His whole body became wooden under the pressure. He stared down at the top of her head in shock, that being all he could see; she had buried her face in his shoulder. Never had he, in all his life, been clutched like this. Never! Dobby's couldn't even be compared. Alana pressed herself firmly against his chest, her hands in fisted in the small of his back, squeezing him between herself, losing him in her. He was completely surrounded by her. With her head against his heart, her tears dampening his shoulder, he felt she wanted to spend all her sorrows on him, but not only hers, his too. She wanted to soak up everything he was, take it all upon herself. It was the strangest feeling. Draco sat beneath a tree by the lake of Hogwarts with someone's arms suddenly around him. Half of him wanted to begin yelling at her while the other half insisted that he could've spent an eternity here. Like this. It took several minutes for him to properly recover and the internal battle to play out.

The first half had won.

Feeling utterly addled, he pushed her roughly off of him. "What in the name of Merlin was that about?" he demanded of her, surprised to find that he was shaking violently now that she had let go.

Alana gave a sniff and wiped her hands across her face. She looked over at him sadly, her eyes unusually bright and now slightly red. "What was what about?" she asked blankly. Her voice wavered a little.

"That- that _thing _you just did!"

Alana cocked her head slightly to one side. "Er, hugging you?"

"Yes. That."

"Was- Did it- Is that a _bad _thing?"

Draco stared a moment as he pondered an answer. Was it? It hadn't hurt. Not physically, anyway. Finally, he replied, "No. But it's odd."

"Odd?"

"You- doing _that-_ to me- when no one- not ever- not like- I barely know you!" He wished he'd stayed in the castle. That he'd never opened up to her- or anyone else. Enclosing himself from the world seemed the only defense left to him, but it was shattered now. Into a million shards of sharp and painful memories all strewn on the ground around him and sticking through his skin, through every part of his body to prick and cut. "Sorry," he apologized hurriedly. "I shouldn't have, but-" He stood up again, violently, fully aware of his trembling body. His head was spinning and he felt he couldn't stay here anymore. With her. He muttered, "I'm going back inside," and without even glancing at her disappeared into the darkening grounds.

* * *

Back inside the dimly lit entrance hall, minutes later, he was starting to recover from his shock. His brain was racing still. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what time it was. Or what was going on in the rest of the castle. And, to be honest, he didn't really care. The corridors, luckily, seemed deserted. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone, risk disclosing what had just happened. He wandered across the hall and over to the stairway that led down to the dungeons, only very dimly aware of where he was going or why.

However, halfway down the second flight of stone steps he was brought abruptly to his senses once more as something came crashing down upon his head, hitting him with a dull thud. Dazed, he looked around and found the school poltergeist floating in midair before him, clutching a large batch of bright red apples in his short arms. At least one of their number was missing, having just collided with Draco's head. Peeves, as he was called, was a squat spirit, who was, at the moment, wearing brightly colored clothes of purple and orange that wouldn't have looked out of place on a court jester and a very wicked grin.

"Why look!" cried Peeves in mock surprise, dropping the remaining apples painfully on Draco's head to emphasize the emotion. "It's the young Death Eater! What's he been up to? Sneaking around on his own?" He glared at Draco, his small eyes reduced to slits and glittering maliciously.

"I'm not _sneaking_," Draco answered moodily, rubbing his head where the apples had struck it and scowling up at the poltergeist. "And it shouldn't matter to you what I do, should it?"

Peeves put on an angelic mask, folding his hands before him in what he clearly thought was a saintly manner. "If you're sneaking around to visit evil persons I should tell the headmaster, I should. He'd have you out of here." His malignant grin snapped back into place in an instant.

"Well, I'm not, so you can just go tell the headmaster _that_. Now, go away_, _Peeves."

Draco brushed past him as the poltergeist burst into song that Draco was sure would carry to anyone lingering in the nearby rooms.

"_Oh, back he comes to Hogwarts,_

_From where, Peevesy doesn't know._

_But Peeves, he does know this:_

_We'd all be happier if he'd go!"_

_

* * *

_

Draco stopped several floors further down before a blank stretch of damp, stone wall, the memory of the song still ringing in his ears. He irefully muttered "Elapsus"and a stone door that had blended perfectly with the rest of the wall slid open.

The room behind was long and low. Emerald lanterns hung from chains in the ceiling. They, with the help of a crackling fire beneath the elaborately carved, stone mantelpiece, gave light to the underground room. A few of the Slytherins, who had been lounging in high-backed, black armchairs by the fire or else squatting beside low tables with their homework laid out before them in piles looked around to see who had entered. Their faces broke into broad smirks at the sight of him. Draco, however, did not linger and ignored the other students, who threw accusatory inquiries toward him as he passed. He exited quickly through a breach in the stone leading to yet another passage, the queries falling away into silence as he did.

The thin and dark corridor beyond wound and twisted its way beneath the castle, lit only by a few flickering torches placed at wide intervals. Each of the tall and thin ebony-wood doors along the passage (there were seven in all) was labeled with a silver numeral representing the year of its occupants.

Draco pushed open the one at the very end of the corridor labeled with a polished five, glad to find Zabini absent from the dormitory. It was furnished by only two four-poster bedsteads hung with green velvet curtains. One belonged to Blaise Zabini and the other to Draco. At the plea of Zabini, who had had to endure the school year as the only remaining fifth year boy in Slytherin House, the beds belonging to Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle had been removed. Draco's had been too, but was replaced upon his return from Durmstrang. A nightstand stood beside each bed and a trunk at their feet. There was a long, age-spotted mirror in the corner beside a low, daintily-crafted table bearing a silver water jug and a set of goblets. All was made of ebony, save the trunks, which varied in appearance from each other as they belonged to separate families. Draco crossed to the second bed, furthest from the door, pulled the curtain aside, collapsed onto it, and pulled the curtain shut again in case anyone should come to call on or question him.

Alana had hugged him! What could that possibly mean? He wasn't even sure he was glad of it. She wasn't the first person he'd have chosen. She was a Gryffindor! What was she playing at? He was in Slytherin, she knew that. How long would it take for the story of what had happened by the lake to get around to the school? Could O'Toule be trusted to keep her promise and not tell anyone? Was it possible no one had seen? What his father would have thought he daren't even imagine. But did Draco care what he thought anymore?

With these questions and more buzzing around his dizzied brain, Draco drifted into uneasy sleep, still fully dressed.

* * *

The Dark Lord was there, clothed in his usual sweeping, black robes, blood red eyes glowing dully in the dim light. A fire burning low in the grate gave an eerie, flickering, blueish light to the small room that the two of them were in, casting long shadows and giving neither warmth nor cold. The Dark Lord was gazing at him intently, almost appraisingly, his long-fingered hands, like white spiders, resting upon the back of a leather armchair set behind a desk.

"Draco," he said in a silky voice. "I give you a second chance. Come back. Join us. I promise nothing will be done to harm you."

"No!" Draco whispered, backing away into the cold, stone wall. Fear flooded through him, made him sweat and tremble as he stared at his master. He was trying to lure him back. Get him in a position to strike. To kill. Well, he wouldn't be fooled. "No! You're lying!" he said, his voice mounting.

"Come back, Draco. Come back to us and everything will be all right once more," the Dark Lord repeated witchingly. "You're miserable at Hogwarts. They all hate you, Draco. But we will give you the chance you deserve. We will forgive you."

"No! You won't! And I won't come back! Not ever!" Draco said, his courage and his voice rising with each word.

"You won't? Not ever?"

"No!"

_A/N: Poor Draco's all confused. -sniff- What did you think of Peeves' song? I was rather proud of it myself. I'm usually no great shakes as a lyricist, but... "_Oh back he comes to Hogwarts..._" Anyway, any helpful hints for improvement, feel free to speak. I beg you do. You know, one day, I'll actually have a boyfriend and I'll look back upon this story and laugh. 'What was I thinking! I was so naive. Young and didn't know any better!' But that's the future and this is the present and in the present you have to go over to the little button that reads 'Go' and click it. That'll open up a nice little window and you can type up a nice long review, okay? -smiles sweetly- Thank you. _

_ ~Yours forever, Tsona_


	4. Nothings and Nobodies

_A/N: This has always been my chapter focusing on more minor characters: my own Boor and Blaise Zabini. Therefore, a lot had to be done to revamp it as, when it was first written, we were not even certain of Blaise's gender, let alone his appearance, social standing, and family history and I got, well, everything about him wrong but his gender. Ah well. Also, somehow I got off the plan I had originally set for myself as far as dates go. I think this second time around I shall not be so anal about that and will allow the story to take me where and when it will. I hope you can as well. Enjoy!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Draco awoke with a groan and his hand went to his temple. His head felt ransacked, as though someone had been rifling through his thoughts in the night. When he shut his eyes, he saw the night's dreams as quick, vivid flashes, but overlaid now with Catherine wheels of white light set off by his pounding head. Behind the fireworks, though, he thought he caught glimpses of a man in a black robe; a dark room; a low-burning fire; narrowed, scarlet eyes. Draco shuddered and opened his eyes onto the green velvet drapes and cotton-lined quilt, the thin stripe of orange firelight between the curtains. He was clearly still in his Slytherin dorm and that ought to have been a comfort, but those eyes had pursued him over the last few days, since Saturday when he had sat beside the lake with the Gryffindor, O'Toule. He could not seem to escape them and feared they had witnessed his confession, that the mind they opened onto might even now be plotting vengeance. He wrapped his arms tight about himself. Like the burning of the Mark, he figured, this afterimage, the fear that sent an icy chill down his spine and caused his blood to race just had to be waited out, let to subside.

When his heart at least had relaxed into its normal rhythm and the Dark Lord's eyes become a thin film across his vision, a shadowy memory, he sat up and pushed back the drapes, blinking a bit in the full light of the fire, relit earlier this morning. His body ached as he heaved upright, his limbs tingled, felt heavy, oddly disassociated from his body. It was a horrid feeling. He levered himself off the bed and shuffled to his trunk with no enthusiasm, still desperate to escape the fiery stare of those awful eyes.

And yet.... He ran a hand along the glossy ebony wood, threw open the lid. Everything in tact, nothing touched. It had appeared in his dorm, there when he had returned to it, after his stay in the hospital wing. He still did not know who had sent it from Durmstrang. He had not had time to grab it himself, would not have been able to flee with it. And who had access to his room but the--

At a noise from his left, Draco looked up from the folded contents of his wardrobe. Blaise Zabini was looking at him from beside his own trunk. The tall, black boy had already dressed in a white, button-down shirt and a black tie, decorated with the Slytherin pin of a silver serpent on a green shield. Dark eyes looked down a long, thin nose at Draco and Zabini sniffed. Draco watched as the boy grabbed his cloak off the footboard and left the room.

When Draco entered the Great Hall, later than usual, the usual halt in conversation followed in the wake of his arrival. He sighed and looked around the Hall, searching for something he knew to be beyond his reach as well as beyond his recollection.

His wandering, grey gaze paused in its pursuit. Alana was seated not far away, at the Gryffindor table, trying desperately to catch his eye. Draco blinked and stared resolutely in the other direction. The sight of her conjured the memory of their last meeting, the feeling of kneeling on the glass shards of his painful remembrances, the walls he had erected to keep others out. He had decided Alana was right about that. He had not wanted others near him. The Dark Lord, his father, and mother had been near him, too near him, and they had only harmed him. Having people close could be dangerous. It gave them too much control. But he remembered too the warmth of Alana's hand in his, the brush of it, like satin. He remembered her arms closed about him, a tourniquet working backward to suck his pain from him. Was there a chance-- ought he to--

Draco shook his head-- the idea of approaching her, of allowing himself to be approached was laughable. He began to make his way toward the Slytherin table. He saw Alana's smile slip slightly as she realized that he was turning a blind eye to her attempts, but as his own mouth slipped to a frown, he thought it was probably for the best, that maybe she would realize he wanted to put distance between them again, to forget what had happened by the lake, what she had done. He collapsed, suddenly miserable, upon the long, wooden bench and pulled a single piece of toast toward him. He examined it with an almost moony aspect, his head resting in one hand and his eyelids partly veiling his stare, but he did not eat. He hadn't much felt like it recently.

A cruel and amused drawl sounded from beside him, interrupting his lament. "So, Malfoy, what's there between you and the Gryffindor girl?"

"Bug off, Boor," Draco muttered wearily. He knew that voice all too well so turning his attention toward the speaker was needless; it had harried him far too often to be unfamiliar by sound alone. Callous Boor was a sixth year and was treated with respect bordering upon reverence by most of the House. It stemmed probably from fear, Draco thought. Boor was known to be quick of temper; highly gifted in curses of all sort, both lawful and illegal; and to have a bulk and brawn that would have intimidated even those who had not heard of his reputation. He could have easily taken on any of the elder students in a fight, fist or magical, and won.

"Zabini said you've been talking in your sleep these past couple nights, Malfoy." Boor adopted a mocking, high-pitched voice, "'No. No. I won't.' Who've you arguing with-- your girlfriend?"

Draco froze, a bit of torn toast, which he had finally begun to consume in tiny bite-size pieces, halfway to his mouth. He turned, horrorstruck, to gape at Boor. His mimicry had brought back to Draco the dream of the previous night and he suddenly understood why he was so tired. He had spent the night battling wills with the Dark Lord. He was filled with regret at the fact that there was simply no dodging Boor; if he tried to run, he would be stopped, whether by use of wand or physical force he was unable to say-- either way, it would be painful. By Boor's glittering eyes and evil smirk, Draco knew immediately that he would have liked nothing better than an excuse to pin the younger boy to the floor and coerce him tell the whole Hall of the dreamt argument. "Oh," Draco said at last, very slowly as he searched for any means of escape, "that.... I was-- I was-- It was nothing, nothing at all." He said the last bit in a rush and returned to his toast in hopes of curbing any further interrogations. He knew that it was a vain hope, even as he tore off a large wad of toast with his teeth.

"Oh, it is something, Malfoy," Boor sneered, his voice soft and threatening. "And I intend to find out just what."

Draco felt his insides writhe in fear but refused to give Boor the pleasure of knowing his terror. He had learned well over the years how to hide his emotions. As a Malfoy he was expected to be cold and unfeeling while still presenting a respectable figure to the general public. And, of course, Death Eaters had no emotion whatsoever save joy in pain and suffering, death and destruction. _But I'm a _failed _Death Eater_, Draco reminded himself forcefully.

He tried to finish his toast, but it might have been a piece torn from the common room cork board for all the taste it had. It was just as dry and difficult to swallow too. Draco left the crust and a good deal of bread crumbs on his plate, washed it down with several great swallows of Earl Grey, and drifted on a wave of other students, being buffeted this way and that, out into the corridor with Boor's words still echoing in the chambers of his mind: _Oh, it is something, Malfoy. And I intend to find out just what._ It was not a threat to be scoffed at. Whether Draco feared more that the whole school would find out the full story of his betrayal of the Death Eaters or that they would discover that he seemed unable to banish a Gryffindor girl from his thoughts, he could not be sure. Either prospect seemed grim.

Most of the crowd was headed toward the marble staircase and the upper floors of the school and Draco, forcing his way through the tide to the other side of the entrance hall, was left standing beside the banister alone and exposed. His eyes scoured the marble and stone hall. He could feel the pins on the back of his neck that were the students' stares and their murmurs echoed in the high-ceilinged room. Shadows seemed to lurk in the corners of the room like hulking figures in black robes. How well connected was Boor? Points of reflected sunlight from off the hourglasses and gems that kept tally of the House points seemed like glowing eyes and followed Draco as he darted across the marble toward the narrow side passageway where Binns held class. Gryffindor's rubies seemed particularly ominous, flashing scarlet as the Dark Lord's in his mind; Draco gasped and had to drag his eyes away. For a moment, he was glad to reach the safety of the first floor corridor. But this hallway was darker; the sunlight that swamped the entrance hall through the great, glass clock face floors above, did not extend more than a few yards into this passage.

Draco drew his bookbag toward his chest as he crept along, not daring to glance at a suit of armor that stood at attention just beyond the sunlit strip, wondering about Legilimency. Its metal visor squealed as he passed it and Draco, jumping and looking back, had to remind himself that this was normal. He nearly tripped into the sunlit classroom with its sweet odor of dust, books, and warm wood. Most of the class was already there. Pansy Parkinson turned steely eyes on him at the sound of his footsteps and steadying breaths. Her pugnacious face puckered into a scowl and she threw her short, black hair as much as she was able as she turned pointedly back toward her friends, Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode. Draco was sure they were gossiping. Ildi Moon was listening intently, though she didn't seem to have been invited to join the conversation. Blaise Zabini, though he had his parchment spread out, a quill lying across it, and an inkwell open, seemed, not unusually, too absorbed in a book open on his lap to even notice Draco as the latter collapsed into the seat beside him just as Binns himself drifted through the blackboard to float behind his desk. The ghost professor did not say a simple "Good morning," or even clear his throat before launching into his droning lecture.

Binns' voice was stupefying on the best of days, though Draco usually struggled through it better than the others as he was interested in the subject. As per usual, almost as soon as the professor began to speak, the girls began writing notes to one another, scratching away on a single scrap of parchment. Today though, the ghost's drone sank to the low buzz of wireless static almost immediately for Draco too; his mind obviously thought what it had to say was more important than the giant wars. It was running away even as he bent over and pulled a piece of parchment, a quill, and ink from his bag. When he had laid them on the table, it was only by propping his head in his hand that he could keep it upright at all and his eyes glazed over, watching the motes of dust in the thick stripe of sunlight from a high window.

The warmth might have been pleasant, but it only made the back of his neck prickle with cold, as though someone-- Draco decided quickly that it felt like the Dark Lord himself and, as soon as he did, his head whipped around-- was standing so close behind him that he could feel his exhaled breaths. But there was no one there. Not physically. But Draco wasn't alone either. He felt the cold lacing his blood, pulsing through him, filling him, and it made him shudder. The Dark Lord had bound Draco to him, the Dark Mark was proof of that. What that meant exactly, Draco didn't know, but the fact made him feel as though he could not be safe, even here inside Hogwarts, with walls of enchantments and stone and Albus Dumbledore mere storeys above him. Surely the eyes of that skull could see, surely they watched Draco as he picked up the quill he had laid out and began to fiddle with it, running his fingers along the vane. And if he wasn't alone, he wondered briefly, what could that mean for those who tried to get near to him? What if he allowed her near? What could happen to her then?

His constant internal battles with himself and with other's wills for him had run him down completely, both physically and emotionally. He felt worn, drained, faded almost, as if a part of himself had remained locked in his dungeon room at Durmstrang Institute, staring mournfully at the barred door. He sometimes wondered, in the silent hours of the early morning and late night when he fell to reflecting upon his past-- and now in the sunlight, when his mind was wandering over paths beaten through a dark and tangled wood, whose overgrown briar and nettles scraped his skin as he ploughed deeper-- whether things could have turned out differently. Could he have found himself more willing to kill and torture had he not been subjected to it himself, known what he was causing, seen living examples of what it had done and could do? Had he but known what would become of him after rebelling, had he realized then that any kind of real escape was mere fantasy, would he have been here still today? There had been times, toward the end of his stay with the Death Eaters, when he had felt he simply could not go on any longer, when the Dark Lord had toyed with him as a cat with a mouse, when he had been declared dead one moment and left to breathe great gasps the next, then let to fall into an agitation for the cat's next swipe. But Hogwarts had then always shone as a distant beacon of hope. Now that he had found it, returned to it, he wondered how he could have mistaken the scorching flames of hatred he experienced daily for rays of bright hope.

"The devastation left in the wake of this giant army was catas--"

Draco dipped his quill into the ink bottle and pulled it out again. Lustrous, black ink trickled from its pointed tip, falling back into the bottle in droplets and looking oddly sinister. It fell as blood does, drop by drop, slowly sucking the life out of a person as it ran, forsaking them to death. _That's what they think of me_, he thought mournfully as he watched it drip slowly into the dark pool below_, all of them_. _They think I'm contaminated with all that vile filth they've got. All that cold darkness._

_Ah_, said a second nasty voice from inside him, cold and high. _But who is to say you are not? You cannot run from it. It is part of you. You cannot escape it. The fight against it will kill you in the end._

Draco shuddered involuntarily, then looked quickly around the classroom to see if anyone had noticed. He had the feeling this baleful voice was right. He didn't want to admit it, he refused to admit it; to do so would be to condemn himself to death because he was _not_ going to go back to the Dark Lord. With his father. He put the quill back into the silver pot and there let it rest. He glared at it. What right did it have to mock him? What had he ever done to deserve all this? This life he had been chased into, forced to live out?

A sharp elbow jabbed him in the side and Draco, jumping, turned to find Blaise Zabini's dark, slanted eyes fixed on him, vivid in his coffee colored face. "Are you all right?" Zabini muttered.

Draco hadn't thought anyone had noticed. He'd thought he had been in the clear. "I'm fine," Draco hissed back.

Zabini's eyes slipped to Draco's desk. "Your notes say otherwise."

There was nothing on Draco's parchment. "Where are your notes then?" Draco challenged, hoping to distract the other boy.

"I don't usually take any, as you've probably noticed in nearly five years' acquaintance, Malfoy." He spoke with annoying superiority and Draco knew that Zabini was enjoying being better liked than Draco for once and had been since Draco had returned from Durmstrang, maybe even since that September when Draco had failed to show up at Hogwarts. "I'll read the book later. I only need to know what subject the old ghost is ranting about to keep caught up."

Draco frowned and nodded toward the book open on Zabini's lap. "If that's not _A History of Magic_, what is it?"

It was a bold step, far from their usual conversation canon. Draco had always shunted Zabini toward the edge of the group he kept, never sharing with him the stories and opinions he shared with Crabbe, Goyle, Theodore Nott, and even Pansy. Draco had not grown up with Zabini, as he had with the others. The Malfoys and Zabini's mother were not close. Zabini's mother-- whom Draco never knew rightly by what name to call-- was a singularly beautiful witch who, after the death of her first husband, had taken to marrying rich men, all of whom died not more than a year or two later, leaving her mounds of galleons and once (to the disgust of the Malfoys, who thought she was sullying her pure-blood and the blood of any other wizard she snared afterward) Muggle money. She had no connection to the Ministry. Nor was she a Death Eater as all the other boys' parents were. Most of her money was new rather than old. Draco had only ever really tolerated Zabini.

Zabini had always seemed content with this arrangement, had not stuck his unusually long and slender nose into Draco's business and let him hold his private conversations while he slunk off, usually to a book. Answers and questions between Draco and Zabini were usually curt and given purely on a need-to-know basis. Neither had ever been open with the other. Draco, when he was in a good mood, had always treated Zabini with a formality he knew was not normal for two boys who had spent most of their school years living in the same room.

Zabini seemed to think this question was a step too far too. His dark eyes narrowed and he slammed the book shut with a snarl of "Nothing!"

"Zaharias!" The ghost seemed to have jumped at the sudden report and was straightening his out-of-fashion, translucent suit and ascot. "What's with all this noise?"

"Sorry, sir," Zabini said, looking up and smoothing his face. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Binns snipped. "This is a class, Zanuck, not a study hall, and I don't think book-slamming is tolerated even there."

"Of course, sir."

"Now-- the giants turned then toward the Plains of--"

Draco had to marvel at the professor's ability to pick up mid-thought as he picked up the quill, this time without looking at its dripping tip, and had to guess how much room to leave on the top of his scroll.

Zabini too bent over his parchment for a few minutes until the ghost's attention was again so riveted in his own subject that he no longer noticed the class. When he sat back and buried his nose back in the pages of the book at issue, Draco glanced sideways, but he saw no more than sketches, albeit quite good sketches, of giants crushing cottages and fleeing villagers. Draco had thought Zabini, like himself, had been taking notes on the lecture.

Draco darted a quick glance at Binns to ensure he was absorbed in his lecture, then ventured to ask, "Why'd you tell Boor about that nightmare, Zabini?" He had been wondering all morning.

Zabini did not even look up from the neat, printed text. "Hm?"

"Why did you tell Boor I was talking in my sleep?" Draco repeated irritably.

"Oh, that," said Zabini vaguely. "I dunno. Does it really matter?"

Draco felt a rush of anger sweep through his veins. "Of course it matters, idiot! You got him on my case! Trying to figure out what I was dreaming about--"

"McAvoy!" Binns snapped. "As I've already reminded Zapata, this is a _class_ and you will _both_ kindly refrain from talking."

Draco grumbled, "Sorry," while Zabini answered with a sharp, "Of course, sir," that made Draco glower.

"Good, because if I have to speak to either of you again, I will have you in here this Saturday doing the house-elves' work."

Zabini waited, watching from beneath lowered, long lashes, until it was safe to talk in front of Binns again. "There's no need for name-calling," he said, then suggested offhandedly, "So tell Boor and be rid of it."

Draco's eyes and mouth fell wide, but Zabini's dark eyes seemed sincere. "I can't do that, dolt," Draco hissed finally, careful this time to keep his voice down. "Otherwise I would have done already. No one wants someone like _that_ tailing you!"

"Why not?" Zabini asked.

"Why not what?" Draco snarled through clenched teeth.

"Why can't you just tell him?"

So, Zabini was going to try to pull it from him too, eh? Moron. They should both mind their own businesses and leave him alone. Well, Draco would tell no one about the dreams he'd had; there was no one he wanted to know anyway, not really. "I just can't, all right?"

To his surprise, Zabini just said, "Sure. Whatever," and returned his full attention again to his book.

---

Draco didn't want to face Boor at dinner, he didn't want to have to sit through his probes. He didn't want to have to endure any more conversation with Zabini. He wasn't sure he wanted to see anyone, in fact. He thought he might do better on his own. Yet, shadows still resolved themselves suddenly into cloaked figures, even as late as this and Slytherin House, as he sat still in silent in one of the black leather armchairs and the House emptied around him, was full of shadows, oddly alive in the underwater light from the lake-facing windows and the firelight. So, feeling as though he was in a daze, head and body aching, Draco pushed himself off the seat and set off wearily for the refuge of the kitchens. There, neither Boor nor Zabini nor Alana would find and haunt him. There he knew Dobby would be waiting and able to give him all the answers he desired, able to chase away those shadows, scare the monsters from his closet and from beneath his bed. As he always had been able.

He pulled open the painting that concealed the kitchens and crawled through the breach in the wall behind. The smell in the air was delicious as house-elves darted to and fro beneath great trays of roast turkey, towers of butter dishes, bowls of turnips, and baskets of breads. Draco glanced around, smiling sheepishly at the elves that peeped from behind their loads to see who had entered, but on looking toward the great, brick fireplace at the back, he froze.

He could just see the red head of a Weasley over the long duplicates of the House tables. With trepidation, Draco crept closer, wondering which Weasley it was and what they were doing down in the kitchens during dinner. _Nicking food no doubt_, Draco thought irefully. The Gryffindors had a reputation for throwing the best House-wide parties and food was always a major contributor. It was also a known fact that the Weasley twins, Fred and George, were the ones who arranged for them. But what was the occasion? Two more months of school till the graduation of the the party's backers? But there was only one red head he could see, so it couldn't be them, could it? Where was the other twin?

Glancing around one of the long, wooden tables, luckily to the backs of the most unwelcome visitors, Draco saw that it was not just a Weasley after all and his mouth dropped in horror. Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter were all squatting comfortably on the stone hearth of the large kitchen fireplace with what seemed to be a picnic feast of pasties, puddings, and tarts spread before them. And worse still, they were talking genially to Dobby, laughing pleasantly with him. The elf's face went pale when he saw Draco staring open-mouthed at the four of them, all seated about the fire. He gave a frightened squeak, his hands shot up toward his mouth, and his green eyes went wide and fearful as they stared.

Seeing Dobby's distress, Potter, Weasley, and Granger all turned, Potter drawing his wand from his pocket out of instinct. When he saw Draco though, his tension relaxed and his face broke into a broad and evil grin. "Malfoy," he said softly. "Excellent."

Weasley was glaring at him with slitted eyes and pressed lips, and Granger's mouth was opened wide as her brown eyes.

Draco forced his dropped jaw quickly closed in a scowl and narrowed his grey eyes in a glare, resigned to the fact that he would now have to face them rather than run for the exit. So much for escaping interrogation. "What are you lot doing down here?" he asked, his slitted eyes traveling from fierce face to fierce face.

"We could ask you the same question," Granger reminded him. Ron nodded stiffly beside her, the tips of his ears growing red, his infuriated gaze never leaving Draco.

"You could," Draco agreed. "But that doesn't mean I'd answer."

"Yeah, well," said Potter, caressing his wand, running a hand up and down its short length. He looked up at Draco, provokingly tranquil. "I'd be happy to loosen your tongue for you if you won't answer willingly. No teachers around here, are there, Malfoy?"

"Shut up, Potter," Draco hissed. "I know curses far beyond your feeble imagination. You're no match."

"Oh, like curses that could get you a life sentence in Azkaban, perhaps?" Potter questioned coolly. "Besides, Malfoy, after Voldemort you ought to be cake."

Draco flinched at the sound of name and Harry laughed cruelly. "What, Malfoy? Afraid to hear your master's name? Pathetic. And you call yourself a Death Eater?"

"No, I don't!" Draco cried, his blood boiling once more. He balled his hand into fists to keep from reaching for his wand too. "And you've no idea, Potter! None!"

"Oh, well, in that case-- don't let us stop you, Malfoy. Do go on. I happen to know a few Aurors who'd love to find out what's going on in Voldemort's headquarters." Harry smiled at him encouragingly with a look of feigned cordiality.

Draco glared back, his mouth clamped shut in defiance. Fine, if Potter was going on the offensive, was going to act so superiorly just because of some stupid scar, some lucky escapes, then Draco wouldn't tell them a thing. He shivered to think too of what Aurors would do to him. He hoped Potter was only bluffing, he suspected he was.

Draco rounded on the house-elf, who had been cowering beside the four students, watching the conversation like a tennis match through globular eyes. "What were you doing with them, Dobby?" he pressed. He folded his arms across his chest, trying to make himself appear more collected. "Go on, then."

Dobby looked at the floor. His pointed ears drooped slightly. "Dobby is sorry, Master Draco. But Harry Potter is freeing Dobby. Harry Potter is Dobby's friend, sir."

"Of course," Draco muttered scornfully. "Saint Potter."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy! Get a grip on yourself!" Potter snapped. As an afterthought, he added, "If you can. I don't suppose your arms would fit around your overlarge head, would they?" Then he too turned to the elf. "You don't have to tell him anything, Dobby, you know that. He's not your master anymore."

"Dobby knows it, Harry Potter, sir," the house-elf muttered, staring gloomily at the stones of the hearth, a tension like a rod between his narrow shoulders. "But Dobby is trusting Master Draco and Master Draco is trusting Dobby, too, sir."

The trio of Gryffindors all laughed heartily. Draco glared at them. _Childish prats_, he thought.

Weasley was first to speak, through gasps for air. "Trust _him_! Dobby, you've gone off your rocker, mate!" Then he roared with laughter again.

"But Mister Wheezy, sir, Dobby is telling the truth, sir," Dobby argued. "He _does_ trust Master Draco."

"Ha," Draco said beneath his breath. "You see, Potter, _some _people-- or elves, ar least-- know who they can trust and who they can't."

"But, Master Draco, Dobby-- Dobby trusts Harry Potter, too," the elf squeaked, gazing up at him in that awful way that expected punishment, that begged mercy.

Draco flinched, but continued grimly, "A fool's move, Dob. You're likely to get your heart broken as soon as the Dark Lord gets his wish and I really doubt Potter's luck can hold out much longer, do you?" Here he gave Potter a withering look.

"So he _is_ planning something!" Potter said quickly, excitement overcoming his hatred. "Come on, Malfoy, tell me-- how's he trying this year?"

"And even if I _did _know, would I really be likely to tell _you_, Potter?" Draco asked scathingly. "Do use your common sense! If you've got any, which I tend to doubt given your history of rash decisions." He shifted his gaze back to Dobby. "Sorry I disturbed you in the middle of company, Dobby," he said with a bite of icy displeasure. "I'll come back later, shall I? When you're not busy entertaining dirt clods."

With that, Draco turned on his heel and stormed from the kitchens, the house-elf calling, "Wait! Master Draco!" after him, Potter calling, "If that's the best insult you can come up with, Malfoy, you're losing your touch!"

---

Draco stomped along the deserted corridors in a fury. He just couldn't believe Dobby would turn on him like that! He had been the only living thing he thought he could trust. Apparently, Dobby had taken advantage of Draco's absence to make friends with his enemies. Or had they always been friends, but kept it under wraps? Maybe Dobby had _never_ deserved the trust Draco had shown him! Maybe he'd always been plotting against him, refusing to forsake him purely out of fear?

An echoing shout rent the stillness of the empty corridor, bringing Draco's train of thought to an abrupt and screeching halt. "Draco! Draco, wait up!"

It was Alana, back again to harry him. She was running towards him, looking relieved.

Draco however ignored her and kept walking. As he past her standing in the middle of the corridor, waiting for him and apparently under the impression that he was walking towards her rather than away, he growled, "Don't talk to me, O'Toule."

Alana looked puzzled for a moment but remained persistent. She caught him up, keeping pace with him. Draco would have broken into a run to escape had he not thought this a cowardly course of action. "Draco, please?" she pleaded. "I only wanted to apologize for whatever I did that made you not want to talk to me. If it was that hug-- or asking you about--"

Draco stopped as abruptly as if he had run headlong into an invisible wall. He spun sharply round to face her. Alana stopped too, looking hopeful. But her expression quickly fell at the sight of his face, pale brows knit with fury, grey eyes narrowed to slits, and his mouth twisted in a scowl.

"You want to know what you did wrong?" he snarled. "I'll tell you what you did, O'Toule. You tried to help!" He started walking again, even quicker than before out of rage.

"Draco! I'm sorry. Really! I never meant to make you hate me!"

"Yeah, well, that's exactly what you did," Draco shouted, turning around once more to face her, for she had remained rooted to the spot.

"So then how can I make you _stop _hating me?" she asked keenly, swiping away a fallen lock of tawny hair.

"You really want to _help_, O'Toule?" he asked acidly. "Turn the world right-side up again. Then we'll talk."

_A/N: So, hopefully that was a satisfyingly long chapter and your as excited about the emergence of new characters as I am. As an interesting line of thought, I might suggest comparing the scene in the kitchen with the last of Snape's worst memories. (Forgive me, I'm at college now and must return to that comparative literature/ this will drive along the discussion mode of thinking.) I want to thank Neighpony, who actually reviewed Death Eaters Don't Cry, not its sequel, but all the same, her kind words have been pushing me toward working on this series these past few days. However, I'm not sure how good an editing job I did on this, so I will beg you all to leave me your reviews, comments, suggestions, etc. in hopes of producing a better and better fanfiction. Cheers!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	5. Behind Closed Doors

_A/N: Hey, all! I've made a good many changes to this one, so much so that the previous author's note didn't really apply anymore. But JKR's final installments made it necessary, so I apologize for the time it took me to edit, but without any further ado, hop to it and enjoy!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Draco felt drained. Ancient Runes was not a class he could get easily caught up in, yet Professor Cockscratch expected him to do the translations as well as anyone else. It had been hard enough before his removal from Hogwarts, when he had been not more than a line or two behind her, to watch Hermione Granger's dark eyes whiz across the pages; now it almost turned his stomach.

He entered the Great Hall for lunch to the usual greeting from the otherwise boisterous tables, but sought wearily for a seat despite, forcing his tried eyes to whiz over the students' to find an empty space. He wrapped his arms around his chest, dropped his eyes to avoid their stares, watched his feet to the deserted end of the Slytherin table, and slipped onto the bench. The glowers of his fellow Slytherins on him were narrow sword tips and gleaming scimitar sneers. The Dark Lord had smiled like that sometimes. The memory of it made Draco shiver as he stared at the wood grain of the table. But the Dark Lord would never have twittered or guffawed like his House-mates did now before returning to their excited, whispered conversations.

Draco wondered for a moment whether his salutation had been more exaggerated than was usual or whether his dour mood was heightening his perception of it all. (In addition to Ancient Runes, he had spent another restless night.) He decided on the latter and convinced himself that the Slytherins were merely inventing some truly vicious rumor, probably about him, to spread through the school. He expected mere hours from now he would know it, as it would spread like the Black Plague through Hogwarts.

To keep his mind from running wildly in circles like a chicken that has been beheaded, wondering what terrible things Hogwarts would be saying about him soon (news traveled remarkably fast through the castle and any news concerning Draco traveled even faster, he being the center of much suspicion these days), he turned his attention to the buffet. He had other things to worry himself with besides. He hadn't made up with either Alana or Dobby. He hoped neither was particularly angry with him, especially the latter. Potter, Weasley, and Granger he could care less about. They would always be enemies, that much was clear. Boor? He hadn't tried to force any information from him yet and as long as the threat remained just such Draco decided he ought not to fret too much. And Zabini?

"What's got you so lost in thought?"

Draco started. Looking to his left, he saw Blaise Zabini sitting there, slouching with a casual grace, but gazing haughtily down his long nose at Draco all the same. He must have slunk, catlike, onto the seat beside him. Or had Draco simply been that out of it he had not noticed his dorm-mate? Zabini's dark eyes steadily delved into Draco's and, for a minute, Draco was too stunned to answer. He had to remove his gaze, train it back onto the golden plate, glittering in the bright noon light, before he could mutter, "Nothing, Zabini."

Draco, so used to exiling the African boy, had never noticed before that Zabini, like Dumbledore, gave the impression of being able to see beyond the surface to something deeper and far more personal. Draco had too much to hide to enjoy that sensation. He filed it away as another reason to avoid the fifth-year.

At that moment, there was an explosion of laughter from further down the table and both boys whipped around to gawk at the source of the gale. Callous Boor was at the center of the guffawing group. Draco guessed he was the joke's originator for, although he was laughing as hard as any, he looked more relaxed and Draco could almost see the pride glowing in his slitted eyes even from this distance. Draco frowned and deep down something squirmed inside his gut. He didn't want to know what had caused the outbreak. What could be so foul as to possibly arouse such a reaction?

"It's them, isn't it?"

Draco turned again. Zabini had obviously lost interest with the band and had instead been watching him. Zabini's dark eyes were fixed again on Draco, who, in response, glanced once more at the raucous huddle and nodded silently. He had understood the question.

"They're planning some sort of meeting tonight," Zabini told him smoothly, reaching for the ladle in a tureen of mashed yams and responding to the unasked question. "In the common room. I think You-Know-Who is supposed to come."

"_What?_"

"Yeah." Zabini forked up a mouthful of the potatoes. "I overheard some of them talking about it on my way over here," he continued in the same offhand tone. "You were still dawdling in class."

The squirm became a sharp twist of a dagger. He cast another glance at Boor's gang, which had returned to their whispered conversation, occasionally breaking individually into snickering. Draco let his eyes shift toward the High Table, but Dumbledore seemed deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall of Transfiguration and had not noticed this suspicious behavior-- or was choosing to ignore it. "Did they sayanything about what they plan to do?" Draco asked, trying his best to keep his tone one of mild curiosity rather than fear. If the Dark Lord was coming here....

Zabini swallowed his bite. "Not that I heard. But I suppose you could ask them. You're a Death Eater, aren't you?" He looked up at Draco once again. Draco was surprised by the disinterested curiosity in his dark eyes, but it did not save Zabini from a deep scowl.

"No, I'm not," Draco ground out.

"Oh. All right, then," said Zabini, looking away once more, taking his lead from Draco as he had the other day in History of Magic. "I just assumed. That's what everyone's saying, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Draco returned his attention to Boor and his chortling friends. He was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but he was afraid now. This was no ordinary meeting. This was something more. Something big. And that meant something vile.

Draco leapt up, all appetite gone and his mind buzzing. "I'm-- I'm going to catch up on work, Zabini. Library. See you later." He threw his book bag over his shoulder and strode toward the doors of the Great Hall. He could feel the color draining from his face, the drumbeat of his heart against his ribs; his eyes darted to and fro like a hunted animal's. Alana sat a short way off at the Gryffindor table, talking animatedly to her friends; she must have recently come in. Their eyes met for a brief moment and he saw her frown before he reached the threshold of the Hall and was out into the echoing corridor.

His mind was racing now. He had to do something. The library seemed too open, too obvious, especially now he had told Zabini that's where he would be. He was afraid too to return to the Slytherin common room. They'd find him there. Detain him if they thought they needed to. Lock him in a wardrobe, tie him to a chair.... He didn't underestimate their cruelty. There were too many Death Eaters, too many children of Death Eaters amongst his peers. Anything to get rid of the traitor who had turned away from their master.

He found his feet carrying him up the sweeping marble staircase. Yes, the farther away from the dungeon the better. But where could he hide? There had to be somewhere.... Somewhere they wouldn't find him....

He went down the hall and up another staircase, this concealed behind a tapestry, thin, twisting, and dark. Portraits on the wall turned to watch as he passed, but Draco took no notice. Where could he go? He had no friends, only enemies. There was no one to go to for help. Why hadn't he gone to Dobby and apologized the moment he knew Potter had left? Why hadn't he gone to beg forgiveness from the house-elf? Now wasn't the time for a row; the price was higher than the worth. He'd just have to deal with this on his own....

He had reached the entry to the fifth floor, where his staircase met with the main ways of the school. He crossed out and hung a left, up another, broader stairway, down another short flight of spiraling stairs to a pair of doors which, by some form of enchantment, led directly up to the seventh floor.

By this time Draco had entirely forgotten where he was. He passed a portrait of a fat lady in a pink, silk dress, who called out to him, "What are _you_ doing up in this corridor? Shouldn't you be headed to class?"

Draco turned toward her, totally flustered. Seeing her image, enclosed in its gilded frame, stirred something buried deep within his memory. Someone had once mentioned to him that the entrance to one of the other houses lay hidden behind a portrait they called "the Fat Lady." _It was Gryffindor_, he remembered, trying, with difficulty, to recall it from beneath the flurrying fears, the mud of years. _She was the one attacked by Sirius Black that Halloween. The night we spent in the Great Hall...._

Suddenly he felt himself relax, his shoulders drop from beside his ears, his fists loosen. A plan had formed itself within his mind. "I'm not going anywhere," he answered her vaguely. Then he set off down the hallway again, past her painting again as she called, "That's no answer, young man! Get back here! I'm not done speaking to you yet!" and toward the marble staircase which proceeded toward the entrance hall seven floors below. There were few classrooms on this floor-- a few Astronomy rooms on the other side of the castle, but otherwise.... He peered beneath doors, strained his ears for noise from between their cracks, and finally chose one within view of the marble steps. He glanced around-- there was only an old wizard dozing in a portrait cater-corner and a muttering marble bust a ways down the hall beyond the stairs-- and pulled his wand from his robe pocket. He touched it to the keyhole and muttered, "_Alohomora_!" The lock sprang open and he sidled through to the other side, shutting the door quietly behind him with a whispered, "_Lumos!_"

He raised the light and peered around.

It was a broom closet: His wandlight fell on mops and buckets and brooms and shelf upon shelf of cleaning products with labels like 'Mrs. Scower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover' and 'Vanishing Varnish: Watch that stain disappear!' all casting deep black shadows into recesses with unfinished stone backs. Worse, the whole room smelled strongly of citrus. Draco's grimaced at the abhorred smell that brought back feelings of flu, phantom tastes of orange-flavored chicken soup and orange scones and he reached for the knob. He'd make a run for it. There were other rooms. He need not use the closet to--

A laugh broke the silence on the other side of the door and Draco, spinning on the spot, pressed his eye to the crack. He knew that laugh and, even in this state, he recognized the pleasantness of it, bright and clear as a silver spoon against a crystal glass, calling for order, sparing him from talking to whatever dignified guest he sat beside.

There were three sets of footsteps, all of them quite light, and the chatter of girls' voices.

"_Nox_," he muttered quickly.

"And then _poof_. No more potion for Harper."

The girls laughed again.

"I hope Snape takes to Vanishing smoking potions every lesson."

"Odd though." Alana's voice. Draco's fingers clawed on the wood of the door and he pressed his eye nearer to the crack beside the door. Where was she? "For Snape to do that to a Slytherin. I mean, if it were a Gryffindor--"

"Snape's been off lately," the second girl commented.

"Stress." Draco recognized the speaker by the long mane of red hair that spilled over her shoulders; it was like a flash of flame in his narrow view as she passed: Ginerva Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley clan. Draco shifted deeper into the shadows of the broom cupboard. Luckily, he thought her head had been turned away.

The next girl to pass had closely cropped hair. Not Alana. Her friend-- _Ollivander_, Draco thought.

But there she was. She was looking forward, after her friends, trailing behind, and he saw her dark eye, close to the wall as she passed, before her flounce of hair, glinting gold as she moved. Draco's fingers flattened on the wood. Was he really going to do this? Really?

Already, though, one hand was moving toward the door knob. He didn't have time to hesitate if he were going to pull it off.

"What kind of stress?" Ollivander asked Weasley. "He's not working any more than usual, is he?"

Draco twisted the knob and stepped out into the corridor, stretched forward. His hands closed about her waist, over her writhing arms, over her mouth as she tried to let out a short scream. He pulled her back, but had to loose the hand over her mouth to close the cupboard door behind them.

She thrashed against him, held tight to his side. "Let me go, you--"

Draco lit his wand again and spun her around.

The word died in the round O of her mouth. Her eyes snapped wider, but her thrashing ceased. "Draco? Draco, what the--"

Draco let go her. "It's all right, Gryff."

"Draco, I don't--"

She looked toward the door and fell silent. Draco kept quiet too, followed her gaze.

"Maybe he's got a rowdy class this year?"

"He's got the same classes as last year, Gin. Unless it's the first-years. Troublemakers, they are. We weren't like that. Or is Harry still taking remedial potions with him?"

"They haven't even noticed," Alana breathed.

"Your friend Ginerva's got herself in a tight spot," Draco explained with a blossoming, catlike grin. "Knows more than she ought. Nosy little Gryffindor."

"Oh hark who's talking. You've pulled me into a closet." Alana turned on him with a flash in her darkening eyes. Her hands flew to her hips, emphasizing their slight flair, stretching the cotton of the blouse she wore taut over her chest beneath her unpinned cloak.

Draco blinked, looked into her face. "I need to talk to you," he said evenly, honestly.

"And you couldn't have done that out in the corridor?" Alana demanded.

"No."

Alana stared a moment, stunned, then declared, "You, Draco Malfoy, have the biggest flair for dramatics and if you ever attempt such a kidnap again I shall be forced to curse you till-- till, well--"

Draco threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender; the light from his wand swung to the ceiling, aiding him in hiding his growing smirk. Her faltering threat let him know he was in no danger. "It's all right, Gryff. I get it."

"All right," she sighed, flopping down onto an upturned bucket. "Shoot."

Draco cocked a grin. It was easier to be more collected with Alana beside him, taking her abduction in such an unruffled manner. He lowered himself onto the floor before her and laid his lit wand across his lap. His booted feet and her sneakered touched, the broom closet was so small. "I need your help," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, _now_ you want my help."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I'm being serious, Gryff."

"Right. Serious," she repeated. "So, what's up?"

Draco told her what Zabini had said at the lunch table. He watched her hands, where they dangled, crossed, over her knees, as he told her his suspicions that the Dark Lord was coming for him, his expectations of what would happen if he went back to the dorm room. Her hands were small and tan across the blue jeans she wore beneath her open robe. Draco remembered them tight about his own, the searing heat of them on his cold skin. His own fingers twitched, watching hers with their unpainted fingernails, left long but not even, as if she didn't have the time to maintain them. He wanted to feel that strength again, to feel her pulse against his own. But her hands didn't move toward him.

They clenched on her knees. "You-Know-Who is coming?" she asked in a whisper. "Here? To Hogwarts?"

Draco nodded, but kept his eyes on her clenched hands, the knuckles growing whiter. "I think so." His jaw was as tense as her hands.

"But Draco, he... he can't possibly.... With Dumbledore here?"

Draco turned with a snarl. "Why does everyone always underestimate him?" he asked jugs of citrus-smelling detergents on the higher shelves. His hand tightened on the warm handle of his lit wand. "Wouldn't I know, Alana, all the time I had to spend with him?"

There were several moments where only his sharp breaths filled the silent broom cupboard and Draco had time to realize what he'd admitted to. He turned back to Alana, eyes wide, hesitantly scanning her face. She kept her head bent. She was examining her hands on her knees. Then she said quietly, "You should tell someone, Draco. You should tell Dumbledore."

"And what would that do?" Draco wanted to know.

"He'd-- well, Draco, he's Dumbledore," Alana said, looking up in her appeal. "He'd-- I don't know-- scare him off, duel him-- something."

"Look, Dumbledore's done a lot for me already, Gryff, just giving me bed-room, food to eat. I expected him to chase me off the premises when I got here. I expected him to call the Azkaban guards. I can't ask more of him."

Alana's face opened with her shock. "Oh Draco," she murmured. One of those small hands leapt from her knee and Draco tensed, ready to come at its beckon. But it rose to her own mouth, closed it. "What do you want me to do?" she asked. It was an honest question, sincere, concerned.

Draco clenched his hands to keep them from being too bold, from begging. Begging was shameful, not worthy of his wizard's blood, his Malfoy blood. _Just hold my hand_, he wanted to say, but he held it back. "I don't know. I kind of hoped you'd know a good hiding place." He really wanted her to pull some brilliant solution out of midair, like Dobby used to, like Dumbledore might have.

He was disappointed. "You could try the library? Only, Madam Pince would want to know why you weren't in class and she's strict; she'd probably report you to Dumbledore. Or you could hang out on the grounds?" she tried again. "The weather's certainly nice enough. Oh, but Hagrid would catch you. He teaches his classes out of doors. Er...." She let her voice trail off, casting about for an idea.

Draco stood, went again to the door, looked out at an empty corridor. He leaned his fists, his forehead into the wood.

"Draco?"

He didn't answer her. Was it worth it? How much could he risk?

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"I treated you poorly the other day, didn't I?"

"What?"

Draco shut his eyes. "I yelled at you."

"Well, yes, you did."

"And--" Draco turned around, looked her boldly in the face "--you still think I'm worth it?"

"Worth what? Draco, you're not making sense."

"Am I not?" He scooped a bottle of cleaning solution off the shelves, stared at its label, turned it in his hands as he spoke. "I hurt you, you help me. You're the one not making sense, Gryff."

"But--"

"Why?"

Alana let out a short huff. "We've been through this, Draco. Don't you remember?"

Draco shoved the bottle back on the shelf, glared at her. _I don't want anything from you, I just--_ "Of course I remember."

"Well?" She flung her hands out to encompass the obvious answer.

Draco watched those hands, two sparrows leaping through the dark air. They left her lap, her torso open, a hollow, a niche looking for a marble statue, a niche he would fit in quite nicely he knew. He clenched his fists, pressed his lips tight. He wouldn't go to her. He wouldn't ask her to come to him as much as he wondered--

Her eyes were soft. _Like a doe's_, he found himself thinking. His lips parted to draw breath and the words slipped off his tongue before he could stopper them. "Stay with me?"

"What?"

Draco sighed; his hands dropped, unclenched, his shoulders relaxed. "If I can find a place to stay, will you stay with me?"

Her voice dropped; she sounded truly regretful, "I have class, Draco."

"Oh," he said. The word seemed to fall dead from him. "Of course."

"But--"

Draco looked up, was surprised to feel a spark igniting behind his eyes, narrowed by the push of his cheeks.

"I have a while before. And I suppose maybe...."

Draco took a step closer to her, his eyes still staring, a grin creeping into the corners of his mouth.

"I mean, Flitwick's an understanding man, right? Surely he won't mind?"

Draco was leaning toward her a bit now, leaning into the words that flew from him on a breath, quick as thought. "Sure. Of course."

"Well, I suppose then...."

"Great." Draco's hand shot forward of its own accord, closed around hers where it lay against her knee. His mind caught up with him then and he blinked to find their hands interlocked, even as her fingers closed lightly about his with the movements of a flower closing back upon itself for the night. He decided against ruffling those petals, pushing his way through them. He let his hand stay in hers as he pulled open the door and stepped out into the corridor with her.

"Where are we going?" Alana asked, coming up beside him. She came quite near and she was neither angry nor scared as Draco had half expected, even now. Something in his stomach responded to her nearness, the warmth of her hand in his with a warm purr, the emotion he thought a cat stretched in the sun might get. There was a flush in her cheeks and her smile set a twinkle in her brown eyes as she looked up into his face.

"You'll see," Draco said and pulled her toward the staircase.

_A/N: Okay. So, frankly, this chapter got too long. I was trying to reread it and reading this far took me two sittings and I was getting all that was going on jumbled in my head (granted, they were both late at night). 16 pages worth of size 10 print is just too much. I won't do that to you. So, I hope you enjoyed this section. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I'm done editing it. :) In the mean time, I don't know how I feel about this section and I'd love your opinions and suggestions. Cheers!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	6. Underground

_A/N: Welcome to part 2 of the previous chapter. Sometimes, I amuse me. Editing means lengthening apparently. Enjoy!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Having taken many hidden passageways to avoid the sight of as many classrooms as possible, been hailed by several portraits who attempted an interrogation and several who pointed to alternative routes where less paintings were hung, Draco and Alana arrived before the large oil painting of the fruit bowl.

Alana was looking around the wide, torchlit hallway with its many, silent still-lifes. "Where arewe?"

"The kitchens," Draco answered, reaching up to tickle the green pear. Draco had to let go of her hand to pull the painting open to reveal the high-ceilinged room. The house-elves were at work cleaning the lunch dishes and the odor of citrus assaulted Draco almost immediately, carried into the corridor with the clanks and chinks of dishes, pots, and pans banging together and on the sides of ceramic tubs. Draco's nose wrinkled at the sharp scent of the detergent, but having no better plan, he gestured Alana across the threshold, giving her a slight bow. He would have to abide the smell.

As Alana passed, her hand somehow found his again, pulled him across the threshold after her. Draco's eyes were wide with question, a quirk pulling at his lips, but she stopped, her dark eyes and mouth widening as they traveled first around the room, then up to the unseen ceiling. "How far down _are_ we?" she asked, still staring upward as if to avoid his cocked-eyebrow stare.

Draco had never really considered the quandary, and couldn't have particularly cared. With Alana's hand wrapped in his, warm and smooth as he could have imagined it, he proceeded toward the back of the long room, turning his face away from her so she wouldn't notice his growing grin if she ever lowered her eyes.

Some of the house-elves turned their backs momentarily upon their cleaning to curiously watch the newcomers; Draco nodded at one or two, eyes scanning their white uniforms. But he'd not gone five steps when he was struck at the middle and looked down with an "Oomph!" on the spire of clashing knit worn by the elf who had wrapped his thin arms around Draco's waist.

"Master Draco is coming to visit Dobby again!" the elf cried in a shrill voice.

Draco grinned, "Good to see you, too, Dob."

When Dobby stepped back and looked up into Draco's face, a toothy smile was shining in and slitting his great, green eyes. But the grin went out like a snuffed candle, and the elf looked instead to the floor when he said, "Dobby is thinking Master Draco is still angry at Dobby for speaking to Harry Potter, sir."

Draco shifted his weight and turned his gaze to the flagged floor as something batted a paw at his stomach. He chose his words carefully; he needed Dobby to understand, needed the elf's forgiveness. "No, not angry. Potter and I just... don't exactly get on well, that's all."

Draco looked up to see the elf nodding vigorously. "Dobby knows it, sir." Then Dobby looked around and a grin spread over his face once more. Draco, following his gaze, saw Alana, who was lingering at his shoulder, regarding Dobby with a cocked head that put Draco in mind of a puzzled finch. Draco's first impulse was to pull his hand from hers now that she seemed to have come down to earth, but she was making no effort to escape and so he dodged this instinct. The next was to bite his tongue to keep back his father's sharp words: "_Don't gawk, boy, unless you want someone to curse you blind. Be discrete."_ It occurred to Draco that perhaps Alana had never seen a house-elf before and, with an odd niggle in the pit of his stomach, he realized he'd never really investigated her family. Did they have money? Was she even pureblood?

"Master Draco brings a girl friend with him!" the elf cried. From his excited tone, he didn't intend to curse her.

Draco tugged himself away from the tangled path his thoughts were taking. "Er, yeah. Dobby, this is Alana O'Toule. Alana, this is Dobby. He's our family's house-elf. Or was."

Alana's released a soft, "Oh." The elf bowed, his tower of woolen hats in danger of falling from his bald head, and apparently quite unfamiliar with the proper etiquette, Alana curtsied awkwardly back. Draco frowned deeply. Certainly she'd never encountered a house-elf in her life. But why not?

Dobby then turned to Draco and, keeping him from pursuing the question, said, "This is Alana O'Toule, sir? The girl who is being nice to Master Draco?"

It was Draco's turn to be nonplussed. He'd forgotten Alana's name had come up with Dobby before. "_Is Master Draco liking Alana O'Toule?" _Draco would have given a great deal to deny she was the same, but there seemed no way around the answer now, particularly as their hands were still linked, neither apparently willing to fight the other's hold. "Er, yes."

Dobby glanced back over at Alana, whose face looked all the blanker now. Then the elf smiled mischievously and whispered, though, Draco feared, audibly, particularly as Alana was sanding only just behind Draco, "Dobby agrees with Master Draco. Miss is very pretty."

Draco started and hissed back, "I never said that, you little pixie!"

"You thought it though, didn't you, Master Draco?"

"No!" But even as he said it, he felt his hand squeeze hers, couldn't remember consciously telling it do so.

"You don't think I'm pretty?"

Draco felt the pink flush flood his cheeks as he was forced to turn to meet Alana's cocked head and crestfallen expression. He opened his mouth-- though unsure what to say-- but Dobby got there first.

"He doesn't mean it, miss."

"You're sure?"

"Dobby's sure." The elf turned to Draco and met his discomfited expression with a flash of pride, throwing out his tiny, maroon-sweatered chest. "Dobby raises Master Draco."

"You do?" Alana asked curiously.

Draco forced his voice past the thorns of his embarrassment to say, "Alana-- now's not really the time for life stories, is it? There's the Dark Lord coming and--"

Dobby let out a sharp squeak. "The Dark Lord?" he demanded, spinning toward Draco.

Draco's eyes darted to the elves at their washbasins. Their bat-like ears were uncomfortably large. His hand tightened again on Alana's. "Take us somewhere more private, Dobby. Come with us. Somewhere we can talk. Maybe where we can hide."

"Of course." Dobby turned and shuffled toward the back of the kitchens, toward the great brick fireplace that usually faced Winky on her stool. "Is miss in trouble with him too, Master Draco?" Dobby whispered as they walked.

Draco's eyes darted back to Alana as she trailed them. _If she is, it's my fault._ "No."

Winky hiccuped loudly as Dobby turned past her to the left, pacing the long, wooden table that mirrored the high table above, and coming to its end, disappeared through the wall. Draco hurried after him to see how he had done it and found that the two walls of the corner did not meet as he had expected them to, as he had always supposed and seen them to. The back wall ended short and the left took a forty-five degree turn so that from a distance it looked as if the wall continued. Dobby was waiting at the left wall's crook.

"What is this place, Dobby?"

"Follow Dobby, Master Draco. You'll see."

The elf disappeared behind the back wall and Draco, after checking that Alana was still at his heels, stepped through the fissure himself. The narrow passageway was short and opened out on a comfortable sitting room, with wine-red walls fueling the warmth of the fire that Dobby lit with a snap of his long fingers. Around the fieldstone hearth were arranged a lumpy couch and several armchairs, all covered with different colored cottons. Draco thought that only a house-elf would be able to create such cohesion with them. The illusion of windows had been made by hanging swaths of dark red cloth at intervals along one wall, lending it an airier, more exquisite feel. _Definitely the work of house-elves._ Draco looked around to see Alana smiling and smiled himself.

"Wow, Dob," Draco laughed, "why haven't you shown me this place before?"

"Master Draco isn't needing it and you isn't asking. House-elves is keeping places like this for centuries to entertain masters' guests when they isn't wanting to be seen. Malfoy Manor is having one too, sir. Malfoy house-elves keeps it hidden by magic. Master is using it often for... for...."

"I don't need to know, Dobby," Draco said firmly as the elf took a tottering, sideways step towards the wall. "Though I've got my guesses anyway," he added darkly.

Dobby shook his head firmly, his bat-ears flapping, but he stood still. "No, Master Draco. Dobby will say. Dobby _must_ say, for Dobby's sake. The Dark Lord--" His orb-eyes grew round, his tiny fists balled at his sides.

Draco stared at the elf, trying to read past his reluctance, past his instinct to hold his tongue. He kept his voice quiet, calm, "What about him, Dobby?"

Dobby let out a low moan and dropped cross-legged to the floor.

"Draco--" Alana pressed herself nearer to him, her body warm on his; Draco couldn't resist glancing at her, running his eyes along the curves behind her robe once more before looking into her dark, round eyes. "Draco-- you're hurting him. Don't--"

The look quickly turned into a glare. He was hurting him? She jumped to _that_ conclusion? "He's all right. Let him talk." Draco turned a softer gaze on the elf, locked stares with him.

"The Dark Lord comes to Malfoy Manor, Master Draco. He comes often long ago, before-- before Harry Potter, sir--"

"What did he come for, Dobby?"

"He talks with Master, he gives orders." Draco noticed a slight tremor in Dobby's hands and took a step backward, forcing Alana backward too. If he could just keep Dobby calm....

"Others-- others come too, Master Draco. Bad men. And sometimes--"

Draco held Dobby's scared stare. "It's all right," he said. "You know I won't-- can't tell them."

Dobby nodded slowly. "They bring others, Master Draco. They bring people there and they locks them away or they-- they-- _kills_ them, sir!"

Alana behind him let out a sharp gasp.

"Master Draco musn't join them! He mustn't join the ones they kill! Dobby isn't allowing it! Dobby won't--"

"Dobby! Look at me." Draco broke away from Alana and grabbed Dobby's wrist so that the elf quieted and turned to meet his gaze once more. "Dobby," he began again quietly, "I'm right here. They're not taking me."

"But, sir, they is trying! They is wanting to kill Master Draco! That's why the Dark Lord comes tonight, isn't it, Master Draco? Master Draco knows, Dobby knows it, sir!"

Draco rocked back on his heels, though still holding Dobby's wrist. He didn't want him upset, didn't want to be in a position to hurt him, but he craved this contact with him too, needing to know he was just here. How could he be honest? "You give me too much credit, Dob. I only suspect. I have no way of knowing exact--"

"Dobby thinks Professor Dumbledore, sir keeps him away. Dobby thinks it is safe here. He isn't thinking this could happen!"

Draco saw himself in the glassy sheen of Dobby's eyes, forced his face to become still, expressionless, even as he fought the tremor that wanted to begin in his fingers. "He's going to the Slytherin dorms. That must be miles from here," he reasoned, talking as much to his reflected selves as to the elf before him. Then he blinked, refocused. "I'm going to stay here, Dobby, if I'm allowed. Me and Alana. If a place like this kept all that hidden-- We'll hide here and he'll never find us."

Dobby nodded. "If Master Draco stays here, then is Dobby being able to stay too?"

Draco smiled, glad to think he wouldn't be alone. "Of course. I'm going to stand up now, okay?"

Dobby nodded again and Draco, releasing his wrist, pushed himself back to his feet. He looked around and the smile slipped to a frown. Alana had not moved from where he had left her. Her dark eyes were fixed on the elf. "Are you all right?" Draco was pretty sure he knew the answer, from the stunned expression plastered to her face.

"Is he?"

"House-elves aren't supposed to disobey their masters," Draco said, looking back at Dobby. He was sitting sprawled on the floor, his long, pencil nose and round eyes pointed downward. "They aren't supposed to speak badly of them. Or spill their secrets." He looked up again. "He's all right. Or he will be soon."

"Then yes, I'm all right."

Draco didn't believe her. It took him several moments of looking at her wide, blank eyes, before he turned to Dobby and said quietly, hoping Alana might not hear. "Dobby? Would you mind giving us a few minutes?"

The elf looked up into Draco's face with wide eyes. Draco, in answer to his silent question, looked at Alana, then back at Dobby.

Dobby nodded. "Yes, Master Draco." He scrambled to his feet. "How will I know when I can come back?"

"Just a few minutes, Dobby. I don't think it'll take long. Feel free to poke your head back in here whenever you want."

Dobby nodded again. "Dobby will tell the other elves he is needing to look after his master," he announced, shuffling off toward the door. He still seemed a little shell-shocked as well.

Draco called after him, "Thank you, Dobby. For everything."

Dobby looked back over his shoulder to give him a wavering smile. He passed Alana not long before he reached the door and inclined his head. His "Goodbye, miss," seemed to snap her back to attention. With her "Goodbye," she and Draco both watched him out the door.

When Draco was fairly certain Dobby was back in the kitchens, he pitched his voice low. "Alana?"

She turned eyes veiled by lowered lids on him.

"Come here." Draco walked to one of the loosely stuffed armchairs, Alana trailing him at some distance, and slumped into it so that the cushion sagged deeply beneath him. He sat straight in it despite and waited for her. She stopped with perhaps a yard between them and he held out his hands. She only took a few shuffling steps forward in response, but it was enough so that Draco could grab her wrist and pull her to the chair, so he could direct her onto the arm, where she perched, finch-like, ready to fly at an instant. Her scared eyes locked briefly on his.

Not wanting to see the fear there, he looked instead at their locked hands, remembering the first time she'd grabbed his, pulled him toward her, remembering the way her touch had stilled his boiling blood, wondering now if his touch did anything similar to her. "You made me talk before," Draco reminded her quietly. "It's my turn. What's wrong?"

"What's--" Alana breathed. Draco saw her, as he glanced up, shut her eyes. She injected more steel in her tone, "I've never skipped a class before."

"Is that all?" Draco very much doubted it.

Alana bit her lower lip, but didn't answer.

Draco made to let go of her hands, but her fingers closed tighter over his. Draco didn't fight, but he turned his eyes into the firelight. "I'm not going to keep you here, Alana," he said and a sliver of ice burrowed into his voice, forced through clenched teeth. "If you want to leave, if it's really about missing class, go."

There was a pause. Her fingers didn't loosen their suddenly fierce hold.

Then she whispered, "Did he really do that, Draco? Did your father-- did people really die in--"

"Did my father murder people in his living room in his spare time? It wouldn't surprise me. If ever there was a time when he was on thicker ice-- and there might well have been before Potter came and messed everything--"

"He didn't mess everything up if that's what he stopped," Alana snapped.

Draco's eyes, wide with surprise, flicked up to meet her darkened, narrowed ones, bright with her sudden passion.

"You're saying you'd have preferred if Harry had never come?" she accused.

"I'm saying my father would've had even greater power. That's all."

Alana still glared, suspicious.

Draco's blood suddenly ran hot again, the fire flooding his body in a few heartbeats. The pulse in his thumb hammered against her grip. He wrenched his hand from her loosened fingers and buried it instead behind tightly crossed arms. His eyes flashed in a glare as he turned his body away, the better to hide his betraying hands. "What do you want me to say, Gryff? You can't tell me you've come this far for a confession?"

"A confession?"

"Sometimes, even now, I think you're just like them-- like _him_. Like you're just waiting for me to trip up."

"Like who? What?"

Draco ticked them off in a growl, "The rest of the school. The Death Eaters. The Dark Lord. My father. No one has ever--"

"How dare you! You think I--"

"How dare _you_, Gryff. I trust you-- more than I've ever trusted anyone but Dobby."

Alana blinked and, not shouting now, asked, "You do?"

"Yes, I do," Draco ground. "It might have very much to do with the fact that no one else--"

Alana's arms looped around his neck as she flung herself against him, burying her face in his chest. Draco stiffened and his eyes widened. His arms, pinned beneath her, were unable to push her away and his brain was once more torn on the idea of doing so. Her body was warm against his, a cushion to break his falls, and her arms were tourniquets to stopper his poisons. Though his blood still burned, his heart still drummed in his ears, it felt suddenly very different.

"Erm-- Alana?"

"I'm sorry." Her voice was muffled against his body. "You're right. I shouldn't-- I _don't_ trust you enough. I know-- I _do_ know-- but it's so easy to forget when the whole school--"

"Alana," Draco said again.

She peeked up at him.

"This would be a lot more comfy," he said, "if you'd let me move my arms."

"Oh! Sorry." She got up and quickly backed away from him, seeming to tip backward to land, seated, on the coffee table. "I forgot. You said that was awkward, didn't you? Me hugging you?"

Draco cut his eyes away, and rubbed his arms self-consciously. The hammering of his blood was fading quickly with the heat. Now that she had sat up, he missed the feel of her warm body pressed up against his, the feeling of her wrapped around him, holding him, unwilling to let go-- the feeling that he was... needed. He chanced a glance at her. Her dark eyes were still watching him.

"Forget it," he told her.

_A/N: Well, I'm pretty sure I can cut this here. For anyone following this story (I don't know if you're currently out there), this chapter and the chapter before it have just undergone MAJOR renovation, to the point where I'd suggest going back and rereading chapter 5. Cheers!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	7. Enemy Lines and Opposite Sides

"Dobby is done it."

Alana and Draco both turned at the sound of the high-pitched voice to see Dobby inching into the room, his bat-like ears twitching as his green eyes traveled between the two of them, their knees nearly touching. Draco quickly cut his eyes away from the elf.

"Dobby is telling the other elves he is needed by his master. They is leaving us alone now." He paused. "Dobby is hearing raised voices," he told them tentatively. "Is everything all right, miss? Master Draco?"

"Fine," Draco told him quickly. "Everything's fine now, Dobby."

"It's true." Alana's voice quavered a little and Draco shot her a quick glance. "I think we've settled it now."

Dobby's presence among them, as he perched on the arm of Draco's chair, kept their conversations from then on light. It was as though they had reached a silent treaty to avoid subjects that might brush either wrong, that might cause either to shout again. Alana's eyes, dark and half-veiled as though hiding a secret, Draco noticed, darted toward him almost as often as his darted toward her. She leaned back, her hands splayed on the table and, especially as the night wore on and she shed her school robe, the posture laid bare her Muggle clothes- a teal blouse that hugged her curves and contrasted nicely with the flecks of orange that the firelight behind her made glint in her hair. Draco had seen posters of young witches in Pansy's magazines; Alana might have been one of them, holding up a bottle of shampoo or a candy bar and smiling silkily from the page. He spent some time debating in his mind what exactly she would be selling, were she in an advertisement and was unable to reach any clear conclusion before several elves, announcing that it was dinnertime and that they didn't want sir or miss to go hungry if they was staying with Dobby, entered the room, tottering beneath the weight of a giant, silver tray laden with several golden plates and goblets and an assortment of dishes.

Alana quickly jumped out of their way, off of the coffee table when they entered the room; Draco had to throw out a hand to catch her as she made to move toward them, tutting.

"Let them carry it, Gryff," he muttered. "They won't appreciate your help; they'll only feel insulted."

When the elves had gone with much bowing and curtseying, Alana went to tug at one of the armchairs.

"Let me," Draco offered, slipping his wand from his pocket. He levitated the chair and maneuvered it beside his, the two arms touching.

"Thank you," Alana smiled.

But as she slipped into the chair and reached for one of the glasses of pumpkin juice that the elves had left them, Draco wondered if she had even meant to pull the chair there, let alone so near to him. He tried to push the color back from his face and looked away. "You're welcome." Looking away, though, he only met Dobby's toothy, glinting grin.

"They really oughtn't to have, you know" Alana said, looking at the laden tray. "You could have let me help them. This must be much too heavy for them. And much too generous."

As they worked their way through the several courses the elves had managed to cram onto the single tray and Draco struggled to explain the etiquette of wizard-elf relations, Draco's worry that Alana might not be pure-blooded as he had assumed, may not even be half-blooded increased. As Dobby, when they had finished dinner, excused himself, saying he is ought to get back to the kitchens and help the elves with the dishes, and Draco, nodding, bid him farewell- Alana sent the elf off with a cheery wave- Draco wondered whether he minded what his father- or for that matter, what the Dark Lord would say if he were in fact fraternizing with someone of less than pure blood. Their sneers meshed in his head. He had only ever followed their creeds, hadn't ever thought to question their rulings. But he had gotten to know Gryff before he had considered her parentage. _"I trust you- more than I've ever trusted anyone but Dobby."_ It was true enough, but what had ever possessed him to voice it? Now?

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

"You just look... a bit lost." She smiled a little, watching him from the corners of her eyes, her head tilted, perhaps to catch the golden glow of the fire. "What are you thinking about?"

"You." _Damn mouth._ He hadn't meant to say it.

Alana, however, smiled more broadly. "I hope they're nice thoughts?"

Well, he'd been perfectly honest this far, hadn't he? "Who're your parents?"

"What?"

Draco dropped his eyes and scuffed at a clawed foot of the coffee table. "Just tell me," he said.

"Their names?"

Draco nodded. "And... whether they're..."

Her expression and voice grew harder, shaper, Draco saw as he stole an upward glance. "You want to know if I'm pure-blooded?"

Draco nodded again.

"Well, I am, thank you very much."

Draco tried to dampen his smile, noting that they were again on rocky ground and deciding neutrality would be best.

"I'm proud," Alana said, "to be their daughter, but I don't see why whether or not my parents, grandparents, or heaven forbid, my great-grandparents were-"

"Alana."

She looked up to meet his gaze.

"I don't think it would matter to me either."

Her skeptical expression demanded a further answer.

"I was just... I wanted to know."

"Why?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe because it's been drilled into me to check."

"And if I were half-blooded? Or Muggleborn?"

"My parents aren't going to check up on me," Draco admitted to himself as much as her, looking again toward the carpet, noting the long shadows drawn from individual yarns by the dying firelight. How long had they been in this room? "And I trust you, Gryff. Who else has bothered with me? Pure-blood or not, what could I have done?"

"Go back to being alone and miserable at the Slytherin table."

Draco flinched, hesitated to ask, "Did I really look that bad off?"

Alana laughed. "I think you'd be happier not knowing."

"You know that answers the question?"

Alana smiled, "But in a gentler way, I think."

Draco was not so sure.

They lapsed into silence. Alana was staring at the last half of the tart Draco had handed her, turning it in her hands.

"My dad died," she said into the quiet.

Draco looked up.

"Before You-Know-Who fell the first time."

"Oh." Draco quickly ducked his head, didn't want to meet her eyes. Why was she telling him this? And why, if that was the case, had she ever approached him? What if his father-

"Yes," Alana said softly. "He died before I was born, actually. Mum raised me herself, with help from the neighbors often enough. Muggle neighbors," she clarified and Draco got the feeling she was trying to catch his eye.

"They're not bad, you know, Muggles; they can be very nice. Many of my friends before Hogwarts-"

"We haven't met the same Muggles then, Gryff."

"Oh," she sounded genuinely surprised. "I just thought- I didn't know you'd ever met any," her voice trailed off in her awkwardness.

Draco remembered walking through the forest that penned the Malfoy estate once when he was eight. That forest was not as old as the one on the Hogwarts grounds, was a tangle of saplings, thorn thickets, and nettles. It had not been inviting but his tutor, Prentice Greengrass, had insisted he become familiar with the plants that grew there, for Potions classes later, he claimed. The paths they had traveled were not well-kept. Draco's father rarely ventured beyond the lawns and gardens of the estate and his mother never. The only people to ever use these trails were Muggles, lost and drunk or dared to enter the wizards' land.

On one such outing, Prentice's explanation of the uses of the sorrel had been interrupted by a shout of, "_Hello? Is someone there? Please! Help me! Get me out!_"

Prentice had exchanged a quick look with Draco before tramping out into the deep tangles of the woods after the voice.

"_Keep calling!_" Prentice had hollered. "_We're coming!_"

"_Oh thank God._"

Prentice had stopped at the edge of a great pit and peered into its black depths. Draco had lingered a few feet behind.

"_How long have you been in there?_"

"_Since last night,_" the boy had said. "_Get me out?_"

"_Of course. Just hold on a minute._"

Prentice had turned away from the pit and his eyes met Draco's. "_Best not to say anything about this, Draco,_" he had murmured as he drew his wand from his pocket. With a muttered word, a nearby tree had been tightly bound in a thick rope that sprung from the wand's end. "_Hold on,_" Prentice had said again as he crossed to the tree and began to unwind the rope.

"_Can't you just lift him out by magic?_" Draco had asked.

"_The Ministry wouldn't like it,_" Prentice had muttered back with a look toward the gaping hole. "_Statue of Secrecy, they'd say._"

"_He's a Muggle?_"

"_I think so._"

Prentice had walked back to the pit and dropped the unraveled rope down its side. "_Grab hold._"

The rope had tautened and Prentice had held it tight, digging his heels into the ground. But the mouldering leaves had slipped beneath his feet and there had been a short scream from inside the pit as the rope had fallen slack and had quickly tautened again.

"_Grab the end, Draco, and pull,_" Prentice had said, glancing over his shoulder.

Draco had shuffled into place behind Prentice and latched his smooth hands around the rough rope. It had strained between his fingers but very slowly he and Prentice had begun to walk backward away from the pit and a hand had reached over the edge, had been followed by a foot, a leg, an arm, and then the head and body of a teenage boy with cropped straw-colored hair and a leather jacket. His face and jeans had been smudged with earth, his sneakers brown with mud.

He had sat on the edge of the pit's mouth, catching his breath. "_Thanks,_" he had said, then had turned to smile at his rescuers.

The smile had turned to a frown when his blue eyes had caught Draco's.

"_I know you,_" the Muggle teen had said. "_You're from up at the castle on the point. They say you're all blonde and paler than vampires. Weirdoes they say you all are. Nutters. Wizards._"

Draco's eyes had grown wide. Prentice's hand had fallen on his shoulder and Draco had dropped his head, hiding his eyes from the boy.

"_None of that,_" Prentice had snapped.

"_Is it true?_" the boy had asked excitedly. "_Did one of your lot set this thing up? What are you expecting to come after you?_"

"_You're free now,_" Prentice had said, and Draco had heard the frown in his voice, though he had kept his eyes on the decaying leaves. "_Back to the village where you belong._"

Draco had glanced up to see the teenager clambering to his feet, though his blue eyes had still been fixed on Draco's face, almost hungrily. Even when he had regained his feet, he had stood there, still staring at Draco.

"_Go on,_" Prentice had urged, pushing Draco behind him, holding him between both hands. _"And it'd be best if you didn't speak of any of this."_

It had been the first time Draco had encountered a Muggle and the teen hadn't left a good impression. As Prentice had led Draco, hand on his shoulder, silent, back toward the Manor, he had still heard the boy's sneer in his mind. _Weirdoes. Nutters. One of your lot._

"I've met Muggles," he assured Alana.

"I just assumed- I didn't think you would have-"

Draco tried to hold back the sneer. "Thought I was a pompous, Muggle-hating bas-"

"I wasn't going to say that," she snapped. "But I do think you've had a poor sampling."

Draco shrugged. He checked his watch, ticking seconds by on his wrist. 9:45. "It's getting late," he commented. "It'll soon be after hours."

"Do you want me to go?"

He found he couldn't honestly tell her, "Yes," so he kept silent, did nothing, only turned his gaze on the dying tongues of flame. He wouldn't stop her if she wanted to go.

"Draco, I've actually been thinking..."

Draco gave her his attention again. She had not stood from her armchair. She was not meeting his eyes, but looking into her lap.

"What if you- Well, you can't really go back to Slytherin tonight, can you? so... There's some wonderfully comfortable couches in Gryffindor common room."

Draco stared. Had she gone mad? His slackened jaw must not have inspired confidence in Alana, for after darting a smiling glance upward, she looked quickly down again and the smile slipped.

"Alana," Draco started, "the Gryffindors hate me. You've seen how they react every time I come near them, anytime I come near you."

"The Slytherins hate you too," she grumbled.

"Yes, but- Walking into Gryffindor's common room? Spending the night there asleep? It's exposing myself to the enemy."

"The enemy, are we?"

"Not you." He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm just worried- If they get a clear shot they'll take it. And I can't exactly mount a defensive strike, not on their turf."

"This isn't a war."

"It is, Gryff. Your whole House thinks I'm working for the opposite side."

"You'll be with me."

* * *

"I'm still not sure about this, Gryff," Draco muttered as they crept through the moonlit, seventh floor corridors.

"Oh will you hush up?" Draco heard her grin in her tone. "I've promised you you'll be fine."

_Yes, but you really can't account for the hatred of your House. And if Potter- or any of the Weasleys- Granger's formidable with a wand._

Alana stopped beside an oil portrait of a rather round woman in pink silk, who glared down at the pair of them.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

Draco flinched. That awful "_he_". It was like a whip crack across his flesh each time. He tried to back away, opened his mouth to confess he was just leaving, but Alana must have seen the movement.

She snatched the sleeve of his school robe and declared, "He's coming up to spend the night."

"Not here he's not," the Fat Lady protested.

Alana glared. Draco had rarely been able to see her angry at anyone besides himself. Her eyes filled with fire, and safe from those flames, he thought it was not unappealing. "_Mimbulus mimbletonia_," Alana said to the portrait.

The Fat Lady laughed airily. "Nice try, but it doesn't work like that. I can still refuse to let you pass. Now, send the rat off and get inside. It's past hours; you'll lose points if-"

"He's not a rat," Alana growled. "But he will be dead if you don't let him in. And so will I."

Draco and the Fat Lady looked at her in surprise. _You will?_ Draco thought.

"Dead?" the Fat Lady repeated, faintly.

"Yes, because his House is out for his blood and I'm not leaving him."

Draco tried to hide his grin.

"If his House is out for blood... That sounds sort of permanent."

"Tonight they might have courage and incentive enough to do it. Just let us in," Alana added, falling into a less firm tone, pleading.

There was hesitation on the Fat Lady's face; she nibbled on her lower lip as she stared at them.

"Is it true?" she asked finally, her eyes on Draco.

"That my House will kill me? It's not an improbability. And I will be outnumbered."

"Why?"

"No one likes a traitor." Potter had once said it to him. The day he'd met Alana actually.

"But you're not..."

"Working for the Dark Lord? No."

The Fat Lady still stared, but her portrait swung reluctantly outward to reveal an archway behind the great, golden frame. Draco peered up along the shallow staircase, but couldn't see into the room. The light babble, however, betrayed the presence of people out of sight and Draco began again to feel as if this was not the best idea...

"Thanks," Alana grinned.

Her voice pulled Draco back to the present. He looked up at the portrait, who seemed to be wondering what can of flobberworms she had opened, looking at them both. "Thank you," he told the portrait earnestly.

Alana grabbed his hand, beaming, and saying, "Come on!" pulled him through the portrait-hole and up the stairs. The portrait swung slowly shut behind them as they stepped off the final stair.

It was only then that Draco realized that he was probably the first Slytherin ever in the thousand-year history of the school to stand here; so great was the enmity between the two Houses and so early had the feud begun. So it was with a certain pride that he took to examining the room. People were flirting around here and there, totally unconcerned with the new entrants, for which he was very thankful. Several second year girls were gossiping away happily before a crackling fire beneath the elaborately carved mahogany mantelpiece, seated in squashy, worn armchairs. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, students in Draco's year, were enjoying a game of wizard's chess, sitting on either side of a low table, on which the varnish of the legs, in many places, had been rubbed clear away.

Alana said again, "Come on," and led him off to the back corner, where there was an unoccupied couch with its stuffing visible through a tear on the arm, far removed from the fire and partially concealed by shadows.

Alana turned to him. "I'll grab you some things from upstairs. Just wait here for me and I'll-"

"Can't I come with you?" It seemed foolish for them to part now.

Alana smiled, Draco thought, fondly. "Boys aren't allowed upstairs."

"But-"

"Just wait. I won't be long." Alana squeezed his hand once before letting go and darting for a set of steps spiraling up from this side of the room.

Draco perched on the edge of the couch cushions, but they took his weight easily. He sank deep into them, as if they wanted him there- to stay. Looking around the cozy common room, with the warmth from the fire reaching even him, he began to wish he hadn't implored the Sorting Hat to put him in the House that would make his father proud- anyway, it hadn't worked very well; his father had still detested him. He could have belonged here. There was no way to know now. Everything seemed more... natural here somehow. The green-glass lamps that hung from the ceiling gave everyone in Slytherin an unhealthy coloring that the students all adjusted too and ignored readily, but Draco noticed now in contrast with the orange firelight of Gryffindor. The windows onto the murky lake only allowed so much of a view and kept the low-ceilinged room at all times dark and cool; the walls were always wet. Once this had only made him lethargic, had had him grousing about poor construction and mediocre spellwork of the elves. Since his return from Durmstrang, however, the constant gleam on the stone reminded him too much of the frosted walls of that castle. The wavering, greenish-blue light of the sun filtered by the water was too near that of the eternal, blue flames that the Dark Lord had created to light Draco's dungeon room.

Draco shook his head; he didn't want to think about that, not here. His arms came about himself and he instead focused on Fred and George Weasley, the school's unrivaled pranksters, huddled in the opposite corner, their heads together over a single piece of parchment, whispering. A small boy with a beaming grin- Creevey, his name might have been- hurried over to them. They looked up and, after he had asked his question, glanced at each other before one of them- Draco certainly couldn't tell which- answered, "We're working on it."

Draco wondered for a moment what, exactly, they were working on, but was distracted by movement from the table beside the twins. Ron Weasley, the twins' younger brother, and Hermione Granger had stood and were crossing the common room toward him, leaving Potter alone at their table, looking sullen and brooding, dark as the splatter from a broken pen. Inwardly, Draco groaned and then began cursing himself. _Why_ had he been fool enough to take Alana at her word? There was nothing for it now. He'd have to take the consequences. He could already feel his face hardening as he began to steel himself, preparing for the wave of fury.

"And just what are _you _doing here, Malfoy?" Ron snarled as he and Granger reached Draco.

"I was invited here, if you don't mind, Weasel," Draco said coolly, his eyes narrowing with dislike. Where was Alana? Why didn't she hurry? But, if it came to a fight, he didn't want her here. Yes, it was better that she was still upstairs.

"Yes, well, I'll have a talk with Alana, too," Weasley muttered distractedly, looking over his shoulder for her.

"Invited or not," Granger broke in, a slight whine in her voice, "you shouldn't _be_ here. It's not right for a Slytherin to be in the Gryffindor common room."

"Well, I don't see anything you can do about it," Draco challenged, a glint in his grey eyes.

"Well," Weasley began clumsily, "Hermione and I are prefects and..." He turned to Granger, the familiar bewildered expression on his freckly face, and asked, "We _can_ kick him out, can't we?"

"I don't know," Granger muttered, frowning deeply and pulling a hand through her bushy hair so that it looked more untidy than ever. "But we can give him detention and talk to... well, maybe not _his _Head of House; I don't fancy trying to get _him_ into trouble with Professor Snape but... maybe Professor McGonagall."

There it was. That dreaded '_him_' again. Honestly, he had ears, too. Did they even know how much each of their insults stung him? Would they have cared even if they did? Probably not.

"Not that I'd much care," Draco pointed out, continuing the diatribe. "I'm not much into House spirit these days, you see, and a few points from Slytherin might lighten the mood a bit." Was the Dark Lord there yet?

"Oh really! And why's that?" Potter had come over now, his face flushed crimson with fury, kicking objects out of his way, which, considering they were all heavy objects, like footstools, only seemed to be angering him further.

"Harry," Granger whined, "we said we'd handle-"

Draco spoke over her, his narrowed eyes now only for Potter as his greater nemesis, "Because, Potter, in case you've been too blind to notice, they've all but-" he had almost said "murdered me," but was reluctant to explain the situation to these three and so substituted, "-kicked me out."

"They have not 'all but kicked you out,' Malfoy!" Potter raged. "Listen, you keep away from that girl! I don't know how you managed to get so near her in the first place, but whatever spell it is, I'll break it! Even if it means breaking you!" Then, as an afterthought, he amended, "Actually, _especially_ if it means breaking you. I'm not letting Voldemort learn every secret he wants just because we let his rat get in too far."

Draco and Weasley flinched at the sound of Dark Lord's name, Draco shuddering, feeling again the cold razor of his fingers along his cheek, seeing his red eyes flash. Looking up, he hissed out, "How many times do I have to tell you, Potter? I'm not _spying_!"

"What's going on?"

Potter, Weasley, and Granger wheeled, revealing the speaker to be Alana, returning from her dormitory with a mass of blanket twisted around her arms. She walked past the three fifth years, all of whom were looking uncomfortable, and deposited the quilt beside Draco on the couch. Then, she straightened and, turning, looked from guilty face to guilty face, her eyes narrow with suspicion.

Draco, seeing Potter's and Weasley's faces quickly hardening once again, not wanting them to answer, glared at them and explained, "They were just saying that they think I ought to clear out and you ought never to talk to me."

Weasley headed off Alana's likely sharp reply. "Come on, Alana. The whole school's saying it: Malfoy's bad news and we don't want him here. We don't know where's he been or why he's come-"

"Well, I do."

"What?"

"I do. I know where he was and I know why he's come back to Hogwarts."

"But- Does Ginny-"

"No. It's Draco's business to tell who he wants. I'm not going to welsh."

Granger's eyes were boring into Draco. He looked away, tracing the piping of the sofa arm with a finger.

"It's bad, you know," Potter suggested, belligerent, "when you have to get a younger girl to fight-"

"Draco didn't ask me to fight for him at all!"

"Then why doesn't he talk himself?"

"I do talk," Draco muttered, "but no one listens. Least of all you."

"A doll can repeat the same few phrases over, Malfoy."

Draco looked up, puzzled, but Potter didn't explain any further.

"Listen," Weasley interjected, "you still haven't answered our question, Malfoy-"

"There was a question between those accusations?"

"What're you doing here?"

"He's spending the night," Alana said before Draco could answer.

"Spending the- Excuse me?" Weasley sputtered.

"Yes, he can't go back to Slytherin tonight so-"

"Is that the story he told you?"

"Harry-"

"No. He's not staying. We'll all end up dead in our beds if-"

"If I could hardly kill a spider, Potter-"

"I'm not going to stand aside and-"

"Both of you," Granger said above their din. Potter and Draco both stopped and all of them looked at her. Draco realized then that a number of other people were looking at them now as well. Thomas' and Finnigan's chess pieces stood immobile, the Weasley twins had looked up from their parchment, and from across the room, Ginerva Weasley, her face scarlet, was getting up from her chair by the fire.

"Why can't you go back to Slytherin tonight?" Granger asked him at last.

Draco looked uncertainly around the listening common room, looked at the trio, Weasley and Potter glaring again, Weasley's arms folded over his sweatered chest and Potter's held stiffly at his side, fists clenched. Then he looked to Alana, who nodded and, sinking down beside him, folded her hand into his, lacing their fingers. She squeezed. Granger's eyes, Draco noticed, flew to their locked hands.

But the words, forming in his mind, being strung together, seemed to call the Dark Lord's attention. Draco saw his eyes flash across his mind's eye and he faltered again. His fingers tightened on Alana's, but it did no good. Beneath that scorching glare, what could he do? One word and- "I'm sorry," Draco whispered, not wanting everyone to hear. "I can't. If I said-" His eyes went to Potter's.

"If you can't give an adequate excuse, it's a pretty good sign you're lying," Potter opined.

Draco transferred his gaze to Granger; she was the most likely of the three to be reasonable, the least biased. "I'm not," he said.

"Draco," Alana whispered, "please."

Draco sighed. "You have to understand, the Dark Lord-"

"No one but the Death Eaters call him that," Potter pointed out bluntly.

Draco groaned and, wrenching his hand from Alana's, threw both his hands to his temples. If he could only blot out those red eyes... "You won't even give me the chance to-"

"When did you ever give _us_ a chance, Malfoy? Do you think my parents got a chance? If the Death Eaters won't-"

"You'd hold _me_ responsible for your parents' deaths? I'm hardly any older than you are!"

"I'm just saying that if the Death Eaters don't give chances I don't see why they should get any themselves."

"You're impossible," Draco decided.

"The feeling's mutual."

"It's just one night," Alana said, looking up at the fifth-year Gryffindors. "He'll stay here. Here on the couch, if that's what you want. I'll make sure. I'll stay with him."

"If he really wants to get to us-"

"He won't hurt her, Harry," Granger said quietly. Her eyes were on Draco and Draco shifted uncomfortably beneath them, turned his eyes away again. He twisted his own fingers together, the skin rougher than he remembered. "If you stay with him, Alana-"

"I will," Alana assured her. "Thank you, Hermione."

When Draco looked up to hear Potter's "But-" and Granger's answering "Drop it, Harry," the trio was already halfway across the room, but so was Ginny Weasley. Alana, beside him, stiffened.

"So this is where you've been all day?" Weasley demanded when she stood before Alana. "We've been worried sick and you've-"

"Ginny-"

"I don't like this, Alana. You're not acting like yourself, and for the likes of_ him_-"

"Don't you think I can decide for myself-"

"You questioned Sirius Black's guilt too, Alana!"

"And," she looked toward Draco, "wasn't I right to? Didn't you say?"

"Well yes," Draco agreed. He looked warily toward Weasley, whose face was still a dangerous red, though her shoulders had dropped a bit.

"Fine," Weasley snapped. "Fine. But Malfoy's not Sirius, Alana."

"I know that."

"So we've no evidence that-"

"I have no evidence that Sirius Black is innocent other than Draco's word either, but you've said-"

"It's _different_."

"You could just tell her what you know about Black," Draco suggested.

"And have you send your minions after- Never!" She turned on her heel, her red braid swinging round like a warning whip. "Just be careful, Alana. Remember what I've told you."

Draco waited till Weasley had collapsed back into her seat before asking, "What has she told you?"

Alana sighed. Her hand strayed out to find his again, burrowing into his loose clasp. "Just the usual," she assured him, her eyes in her lap, her hair falling forward off her shoulders to hide the shape of her face. " 'Stay away from him. He's trouble.' Do you get any of the same?"

"If anyone but you cared anymore I would," he offered. His hand hesitated, tried once and retreated, before taking a loose lock of her fallen hair between his fingers, brushing it, like silken threads, behind her ear to reveal a slight smile pulling at her lips.

"Let's just ignore them tonight," Alana suggested, and Draco nodded, trying to dampen a smile of his own, a smile he felt guilty to own. "You know," Alana said as she slipped her head onto Draco's shoulder. Draco started and stiffened beneath the sudden pressure of it, wasn't sure how to react, but her hand was steady in his, warm. "My mum knew Lily Potter. They were in the same year, same House. Harry and I ought to be friends."

"Yeah..." The sudden tension in his body was quickly departing; the weight of her head kept his shoulder from leaping near his ear, forced him to relax. Her body was warm beside his; the fire's pleasant warmth lapped at him too. Alana threw the blanket over herself. Curling tighter against him, she offered him the other half, which he silently accepted and spread over his legs.

* * *

Draco awoke with a start, his head slipping off his hand. Hours must have passed; the fire had burnt down to glowing embers so that shadows ventured from behind chairs and tables, huddled in the corners of the deserted room.

Draco looked to his left and saw Alana there. She had fallen asleep, her head resting against his shoulder. He smiled to himself as he watched her chest rise and fall gently in time to her silent breathing. She looked so peaceful, the young fool. Draco knew to be on his guard, even in sleep, but she had cast all fears aside, the picture of innocence. Her skin was slightly luminous in the dim light, stealing the last of its glow, completing the angelic image.

Alana's hair had caught the low firelight and was twinkling enticingly up at him, like glittering threads of spun gold. Cautiously, he reached out and took a few of the shining strands between his fingers, playing with them, letting them run, slide fluidly from his hand. He remembered the smile the gesture had birthed earlier and smiled too, more at peace with himself and with the rest of the world than he had been for a long while.

But what was he thinking? He let her hair drop, his body stiffening, becoming rigid and straight in his terror.

_You're a fool, Malfoy_, a bitter voice, a sneer not unlike his father's, in the back of his mind said, _letting her have that kind of control over you._

Draco looked back at Alana. Control- was there a more lethal weapon? It had almost killed him once- less than a month ago, in the form of the Imperius Curse. Would it try again- and succeed? Had he been running in the wrong direction, toward the threat rather than away?

_You don't want to stay here any longer_, the voice persisted.

Draco glanced at the grandfather clock leaning against wall beside the fire. It was 4:13, surely the Death Eaters' meeting was over by now.

_Go. No good'll come of staying._

Heeding the warning, Draco made to get up, but he hesitated. Alana was leaning against him and he couldn't stand without waking her.

_Don't bother with her! _the voice persisted, sounding near tears in its desperation to get Draco to comply.

Draco sighed and, carefully lifting Alana's head from his shoulder, stood. Gently, he replaced it on an overstuffed pillow, hoping she would not wake and interrogate him about his departure. She did not, so he turned away, massaging the feeling back into the arm that had grown numb beneath her weight.

As he reached the head of the dark staircase which led to the portrait's back and the corridors beyond, a soft, cooing voice reached his ears. "Draco?"

Draco paused, in half a mind to return to her side. But the voice in the back of brain was still berating him about his foolishness, kept a stiffness between his shoulders, his fists tight. He continued down the dark stairwell, leaving the warmth of the Gryffindor common room behind him.

_A/N: I suffered a revelation the other day: Any chapter that includes a scene that pits Harry against Draco becomes longer than I ever intended. So I got to thinking: why? And I figured it out. There is just so much that Harry and Draco need to work through that they _need_ these lengthy diatribes. So, the diatribes stay. Forgive their length and consider it as working toward a greater cause. I am currently working my way through the TV show _Avatar: the Last Airbender_ and that is one of the few things that is a pin in my side: enemies do not become companions lightly, not quickly. So, to make Draco's tolerance of Harry's presence (and vice versa) possible, they must fight still. I also almost forgot- that flashback was something I wrote a long time ago and have since been waiting for a scene off of which to link it. Did you like it as much as I do? On a whole other note, how were those last few as romantic scenes? This is an area I'm am woefully unversed in. Well, I've kept you long enough. To the "review this story" button, please. :)_

_Yours forever, Tsona._


	8. Skirmishes and Unstable Cease Fires

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my friend Rebekahek623. She helped me a great deal with this chapter- and at odd hours of the night too. Plus, because she heard all my griping over the slow progress I was making, she'll appreciate its being done, I think. :) Because of her guidance, this chapter just kept getting longer and longer as more and more people entered the tableau so that- yep- this one had to get split as well. That being said, enjoy the new chapter 8, and please enjoy too some of Rebekahek623's stories. They are really quite fantastic._

_Yours forever,_

_Tsona_

That quiet voice calling his name had rung through Draco's head all night long and done battle with the sneer that tried to drown it, that tried to roar over the rush of strange sensations flooding his body- guilt, an all too familiar emotion, at leaving her; longing for the strength of her hand in his again, the warm weight of her against his shoulder, the brush of the silken strands of her hair along his fingers that sent a warm thrill through his nerves. His mind's eye kept displaying her smile, her laughing face, even her sympathetic frown like photographs pulled from a cedar box, one right after another, and laid them out like someone reluctant to put them away. He had awoken to find Zabini gone and the fire lit, had dressed, and climbed the stairs for breakfast, not sure whether he was anxious to see her again or whether he preferred to avoid her, avoid her accusatory glare, the excuses she might demand.

She was sitting near the end of the Gryffindor table, her House-mates all some distance away. Every so often, her friends- Ginerva and Ron Weasley, Granger, Potter- cast glares along the table's length. Others in the House just eyed her warily. Her head was bent over the golden bowl and she seemed to be pushing her oatmeal around without much lifting the spoon to her mouth.

Draco inched up toward her, wary of the Gryffindors' fierce stares, of Alana's seeming ignorance of his approach, still unsure what reaction she might have to the night's events, unsure of what he might say to her.

"Gryff?"

She turned. Her eyes were red and swollen, large in her blotched face. She rubbed a fist quickly across them before answering. "Draco." She turned away from him to look down the table, toward where the others sat, then she snatched his hand and pulled him away, forcing him to stumble after her in her haste.

As soon as they gained the entrance hall, were out of sight from the open doors, she threw her arms around him, her hands clasping around his neck. His shoulders tensed, his limbs stiffened as she buried her face against his chest.

"What- what's wrong?" he asked, bewildered, looking down on the top of her head.

"Oh Draco." Her voice was muffled. "We've had a row," she confessed. "The rest of the House and I. You were right, I think they really _do_ hate you. They ganged up on me after I'd come down from dressing- Ginny, Ron, and Harry mostly- and Hermione hung around behind them, of course. They were going on about how I was endangering the whole House, how you couldn't be trusted, how you'd kill us all in a heartbeat and- Oh Draco, I just _cracked_."

She began to quiver, her voice to waver, Draco thought, and his stomach seemed to knot inside him. His hands clenched and unclenched, inched up to finger the starched cotton of the blouse she wore beneath her robe. Her warm body was shivering beneath the fabric and he let his fingers close loosely on her waist so that he could feel her ragged breaths in the rise and fall of her stomach, so that her body was firm in his grasp, warm against his fingers. Athene's voice whispered in his mind, "_Take me_." She used to throw herself upon him, thus, but Draco knew better than to take the two gestures as the same. Alana had not come to him for any of Athene's wild pleasure. Draco remembered too holding Natalie Macnair when she was still an infant and Dobby's warnings to hold the young girl gently, not to be rough with her, to treat her as he would treat one of the crystal wine goblets he was not then allowed to have, that he had been told not to touch because he would break them. He handled Alana as he had handled Natalie then as his hands crept toward the small of her back, drawing her slowly, almost imperceptibly nearer to him.

"I don't know what came over me," Alana choked into his chest, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders, two sparrows or the little weight of a cloak, as she folded upon herself at the small pressure on her back. "I just- I just felt like I couldn't stand another word. And I yelled at them. I yelled at Ginny, one of my best friends! I told them they were being idiots. That they wouldn't open their eyes and see you properly just because they were too stubborn to. I told them to leave us alone, not to stick their noses into it, that if anyone were going to kill us it would be Harry more likely than you. And then Ginny yelled back and, when I started on her again, Kari came in to defend her and before long the whole House was sided against me and- oh! Draco I just fled." Her speech dissolved in tears, choked sobs that dampened his shirt.

"You said all that?" Draco asked her, not daring to move, to shift his hands an inch now that she had broken down, not sure what movement would send her toppling to the ground or which would cause her to run from him. "In my defense?"

Alana nodded mutely, her face still hidden.

"Wow, Gryff," Draco laughed and Alana peeked up at him timidly from within the circle of his arms, the puddle of her tears on the cotton of his shirt. Her lips still shook and her eyes were glossy with the wealth of everything she'd been put through. "I'm honored, really, but you really shouldn't have, you know?"

Draco thought he saw the corners of Alana's mouth twitch upward for a second, but even then, a glistening tear broke beyond the barrier of her eye and slipped down her cheek. He frowned.

"They're not speaking to me, Draco," she whimpered as a second tear broke loose, "any of them."

"At least they're not throwing insults," Draco offered, trying to grin.

He earned a hiccoughing laugh from her in return.

Draco remained irresolute for a moment before circling her tighter, drawing her up against him. She was pliable in his arms, every curve fitted to his hands, to the shape of his body pressing at hers. She lay her head quietly against him again and Draco soon felt the warm wetness of her tears, sunk through the cotton to his skin. He ran one hand down along the cascade of her hair, finding the niche of her bent neck, rested his head atop her shoulder, looking toward the oaken doors of the castle.

Draco didn't know how much later Alana pushed herself away, though without breaking the circle of his arms, which slipped down to the small of her back, cradled her there. She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand, and muttered a thick, "Thanks."

Draco just shook his head, wondering, as he did, what had caused him to do it and noting again the unprecedented power she had over him. "Don't mention it," he murmured in response.

They looked at each other a moment, Alana's eyes over-bright and seeming to glow slightly, in silence. "Draco, I-" But words seemed to fail her, to choke her as her tears had. She leaned forward, shut her eyes, and her lips, warm and trembling, brushed against Draco's cheek.

There was a snarl behind Draco and Alana pulled back with a start, color flooding her face. "Ginny-" she breathed.

Draco turned to see the redhead striding toward them, the color as high in her face as it was in Alana's. He stretched a hand out, as Prentice had all those years ago, and herded Alana behind him.

"You ungrateful little- After everything we said to you- Did you actually just- It's bad enough that you're doing it in the common room after we're all asleep, but here, Alana? In the middle of the hall?"

"Ginny, please, I-"

"What do you think they'll say about you, Alana? People are already starting to wonder but you stand here bold as brass and snog-"

"We weren't snogging!"

Even Draco could feel a dull flush brightening his cheeks at the accusation.

Weasley stopped several yards from them, but near enough that Draco could see the tension created by her balled fists, was nervous of the waves of fury that seemed to electrify her eyes and curl her hair. "Everyone knows what he is. Except you."

But as it always did when Draco felt threatened, his blood began to run hot, some strange poisonous bile to flood his veins. Glaring back at the redhead, he demanded, "And what exactly do you think I am, Weasley? Not human, obviously."

"It's hard to tell below that mask of yours, Malfoy," she shot back.

"Ginny- don't," Alana implored, trying to sidestep Draco, but he would not have her in the middle of this. "He's not."

"Oh sure. He doesn't act it around you, I imagine," Weasley growled, rolling her eyes toward the lofty ceiling. "But where'd he go after he left you last night, eh? Back to his master to tell him exactly-"

"_He's not my master_," Draco snarled. He felt as if the skull of that vile Mark, that black brand bold upon his arm, opened its jaws wide to laugh at the denial, almost aloud it echoed in his mind so, wild and high, as his hand fisted.

"If you like the ferret so much," Weasley continued, addressing Alana, "why don't you two go crawl off into some cozy dungeon. I'm sure he'll be right at home there and you can-"

The blue lights flickering on the windowless stone walls. His breath rising in clouds of shimmering mists. Lying with the quilt over his head and his wand tight in his hand, too scared to sleep without it in case he should come in. The door too warm with enchantment to touch. It would scald him if he tried, would burn, and then he would come. Locked inside. _"It's a prison!" "You'll live wherever I tell you to. Lord Voldemort keeps his own."_

Draco had done it before he thought, flung off his book bag, and plunged his hand into his pocket and came up with the wand, his knuckles white on the warm handle. "Shut up, Weasley, I'm-"

Weasley reached into her pocket and got hers too. She didn't look scared; she looked determined, the dark eyes narrowed furiously. "Can't handle the truth, Malfoy?"

"Can't handle a lying, filthy, little-"

"Draco!"

"She hurt you, Alana!"

"Well, maybe but-"

The confession was all he needed, he drew back his hand, opened his mouth, not knowing what curse would reach his tongue first... there were so many good ones he'd been taught and most seemed worthy of the little blood-traitor. Weasley raised her wand too.

"No!" Firm hands yanked at his elbow, forcing the arm down and Draco spun his head around to meet Alana's anxious expression. She pled with him silently, eyes wide, until with a sigh, he lowered his wand fully, the point aimed at the flagstones, the arm limp.

Draco was surprised Weasley had not taken the opportunity to strike and turned a curious gaze on her. Her wand was at waist-height, not quite away, the threat not quite gone.

"Ginny! Are you all right?"

Draco stiffened again to see Ronald Weasley come out of the Great Hall. It meant his friends weren't far. Alana's hands were still tight on his wand arm; he wouldn't be able to defend himself.

Ginerva Weasley looked once at the pair of them, Alana and Draco. Draco's eyes followed Potter and Granger as they darted out of the Great Hall toward the redheaded siblings.

"I'm fine," Ginerva declared crossly, shoving her wand into her pocket, and throwing her brother's anxious hand off her arm. She spun on her heel and stormed toward the marble steps.

"Did he attack you?" her brother called after her.

"No," was her moody reply. Weasley didn't turn around to give it.

But the trio turned, as Ginerva gained the stairs, to the pair in the entrance hall, still frozen in tableau. Potter's keen eyes shot a look at Draco's unsheathed wand and though it hung limp in his hand, he snarled at Draco all the same, "You're lucky O'Toule was here to stop you, Malfoy. If you had hurt one hair on Ginny's head, I'd-"

"Got a crush on her, do you, Potter?" Draco sneered, his hand tightening on his wand again, despite himself. Alana gave a tiny moan.

"She's Ron's sister," Potter growled, glowering.

"And you'd just love a reason to really be a Weasley, wouldn't you, Potter?"

"Stop it," Alana hissed. "They're my friends. Ginny's friends."

Draco kept one eye on the trio, fearing attack from them even more than he had from Weasley, as he shot Alana a quick, searching glance. Her eyes were bright with conviction, her frown severe. He shoved his wand away, though his fingers seemed loath to let go of it. "Fine," he hissed.

Potter laughed, but Granger was at his elbow. Draco, looking their direction, thought he heard her snap something about "class." Draco smiled. Trust Granger to look after her grades. She herded a reluctant Potter and Weasley onto the steps.

"Just keep away from her, Malfoy!" Potter called as he was shunted up the stairs. "Keep away from them all!"

"I can't sink into the ground, Potter," Draco called back. "And the castle's only so big."

"Just stay in the dungeons where you belong. We won't bother you there."

Draco winced at the too recently recalled memories, the same sore rubbed twice, and turned his back on them to hide the grimace as, by the fading sounds of their complaints, Granger managed to get the boys onto the second floor and out of sight. "You'd find a way," Draco was certain.

Alana gave him a sympathetic smile, patting him on the arm before letting go. "Thank you." The anger had faded fast from her face.

Draco nodded, but added with a jump as the thought occurred to him, "God! Imagine if Potter had come looking for me last night! If I hadn't been with you..."

Alana shivered. "God," she echoed.

"I wouldn't wish that on him," Draco realized, shaking his head.

"It's a good thing you were with me."

Draco looked down into her wide eyes. "Yeah," he quietly confessed, "it is." Looking at her then, he could still the warnings as he could not last night, the ones that told him that Alana held too much power in her warm body, her bright eyes, and curved lips, in the lightness she seemed to inspire in his head, the smile she pulled from his lips. He hesitated only briefly now before slipping his fingers into the loose fall of tawny hair. He started near the top and they brushed her warm temple getting there; her eyes shut and she seemed to tremble at the touch, but she didn't flinch. He pulled his hand through, letting the satiny hair slide between his fingers, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"Alana!" She spun away from Draco toward her spiky-haired friend, who hesitated by the foot of the stairs with her book bag over her shoulder and a frown on her sharp face. "Come on. I doubt McGonagall will take excuses if you're late." Her eyes slipped, glaring, to Draco.

Draco tried for a smile so that when Alana turned away from the sight of her friend storming up the stairs, it would not be into another angry or worried face she looked. "Your friends seem to be talking to you again."

Alana tried to smile, but the expression wavered on her lips and quickly broke. She wouldn't meet his eyes. Turning her face from him, so that her hair fell as a curtain between them, she muttered, "I should get my bag. I left it in the Great Hall."

Draco watched her bound away, head down and hair flouncing, catching the bright sunlight that came through the window-faced clock, through the door of the Great Hall, where he could still hear, now that he listened, the low murmur of voices still at breakfast. Bending down to retrieve his own bag, he wondered why. Why did she run? And why had he defended her so fiercely? The tension was gone now, his blood seemed to have filtered out most of the poison that had made it race, leaving him almost drained. Was he merely ready for any opportunity to attack those he most hated in the school? Or as he had told Alana- those crazy words that had flown from his tongue in a temper- was it because they had hurt her?

Draco looked up to see Alana marching back into the entrance hall, bag over her shoulder, looking determinedly forward, her eyes still wide. Draco guessed she had needed to wear that face to bear the interrogation, the derogation of her House-mates. It would be worse now, after a second fight, he realized, and his chest tightened to watch her pass.

"Alana!"

She stopped, looked to him, and her face softened with a smile as she watched him coming toward her.

"I'm in Defense Against the Dark Arts," he told her. "I'll walk with you."

They fell into step together and proceeded in silence up the stairs. Draco saw Alana's eyes darting toward him often, but when he looked at her, she turned away. Draco didn't mind the silence. He knew what they would talk about, what they would have to talk about, and he didn't want to, didn't want to have to examine the questions the situation posed any further. Maybe if they both ignored it...?

They paused together near the Transfiguration classroom. Her classmates seemed to have already filed in; they were alone in the corridor, though the classroom door was open. Still, Alana turned to him, eyes down, and said, "Draco, tell me now: Did I overstep my boundaries when I- you know? I know you told me I oughtn't to hug you and if hugging is out of bounds then surely- If I did, I'm sorry. Really, I am. I was swept away. So much has happened just in the past few hours and I didn't know how to react and I got caught up-"

Draco lay a finger against her lips and her eyes grew wide. "No," he said simply, because he wasn't ready to elaborate, "you didn't." He turned from her then, and walked away. Alana did not call him back and he didn't look back at her. He kept walking and he kept the questions and answers that spun his head locked behind sealed lips.

He rounded a corner in the corridor, climbed the stairs to the second storey. What ought he to have said to her? Ought he to have been more clear? Clear about what? He didn't know what he wanted to be able to tell her. A tapestry about a yard ahead of him fluttered, but he paid no mind.

Then a bulking figure emerged from behind the weave. His sharp eyes turned to Draco, who recognizing the sixth-year, rooted himself to the spot, even as Callous Boor called for him. "Malfoy! Get over here."

"I've got class, Boor," Draco called, not moving any further along the hallway. "Defense Against the Dark Arts. If that Ministry witch-"

"She can wait. You and I need to have a talk." Boor crossed the space between them in four strides so that just as Draco made to run back and take an alternate route, Boor's hand clamped on his upper arm, yanking him back the way Boor had come.

"Boor," Draco complained while trying to dig his heels into the worn stone slabs and throw off the sixth-year's hold without much effect in either pursuit. "Let go. Where are you taking me? If we have to talk-"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Boor growled. "You don't rule anything anymore."

"I know that."

"I do."

"So let me prove it and follow myself without-"

Boor threw aside the tapestry and shoved Draco onto the dark, narrow flight of steps hidden behind. His ankle hit a step and the force made him topple backward. Boor advanced on Draco as he lay sprawled, staring up at the sixth-year and trying to elbow himself upright again. "Like you proved it to the Dark Lord? No way, Malfoy." Boor swooped down and hauled him to his feet by the front of his shirt. Boor held Draco mere inches away from his snarling face. "Where were you last night, Malfoy?"

"I-"

"Not in your room. Not in Slytherin anywhere. There's not one person there who would have helped you out of the scrape you were in."

"Oh come now. There has to be one decent-"

Boor shoved him onto the stairs again. Draco hit his elbow and felt the pain rocket up to his shoulder, leaving the arm to tingle. "You embarrassed me last night, Malfoy. In front of the entire House. And in front of the Dark Lord."

"I wasn't even there. How could I-"

"Exactly. You weren't there. When the Dark Lord announced that he'd be coming, it was my idea to hand you over to him."

"Boor, he doesn't need your help. If he wanted me, he'd just-"

"But he _does_ want you, Malfoy. After what you did to him, how could he not? And by shoving you down at his feet-"

"You'd get the credit for catching the traitor. He knows I'm here, Boor. If I'd have been in Slytherin, he would have caught me himself. He wouldn't have given you a thought. He doesn't work like-"

"But you _weren't_ in Slytherin. You knew. You knew he was coming. Who told you?"

"You all talk so loudly, how could I not have known?" Draco demanded, thinking fast. Zabini wasn't one of them. His mother had never been one of them. Zabini had thought that Draco was a Death Eater. He didn't know Draco had deserted. And all that meant that Draco had no reason to drag him into this.

"Was it Parkinson? Was it Blather? Who?"

"He let _Blather_ in as a Death Eater?"

"Well, not officially, but _that's not the point_!"

"What is your point?"

Boor bent down nearer him, and Draco pressed himself more firmly into the stairs, the stone digging into his back, to get away from those narrow, glinting eyes. "That I won't forget this, Malfoy. You embarrass me, and you'll pay."

"Yeah?" Draco breathed. "How?"

Boor smiled slowly. "I'll think of something."

"Oh, real threatening," Draco sneered. "Can't even come up with a proper threat when-"

Boor's booted foot swung our to catch Draco in the side and his taunt ended in a low groan. "Get to class, Malfoy. Slytherin doesn't have to lose any more points."

Draco put a hand to his side. It would bruise later, but bruises weren't permanent. "Right, because _I'd_ care about losing points," he said as he pushed himself first to his knees, then to his feet.

"I wasn't talking about _you_ losing points, Malfoy. _You'd_ lose a few teeth and a pint of blood. I'd lose the points." Boor then threw back the tapestry and left with no more than a "Later, Malfoy."

Draco leaned back against the wall in the dark of the stairwell, waiting for the sound of Boor's footsteps to fade, before heading to class.

* * *

Draco examined the dark bruise over his ribs that night in the flickering firelight of the dorm room. The long, cheval mirror showed him a thinner, paler person than he remembered and he wondered how long he had looked like that; he hadn't been looking at his reflection if he could avoid it. He tried not to look at himself. In the mirror, he could see Zabini watching him from near his bed, already in his pajamas. "Who did that?" the African boy asked with a frown.

"Boor," Draco confided. With a sigh he crossed back to the bed, pulled back the blankets.

"Did he- He- Where were you last night?" Zabini finally managed.

"That's what he wanted to know," Draco said, slipping onto the mattress.

"But you can tell me."

"Can I?"

"I think you should."

"Why's that?"

"I know what sort of trouble you're in, Malfoy. He came last night, like they said." Zabini slipped into bed too, pulled his long legs toward his pointed chin and stared at Draco with dark eyes over his knees. A candle on his nightstand lit his face from beneath, made him look tired, with dark circles beneath his eyes and high cheekbones. "You-Know-Who," he clarified. "I followed them. After they were all in the common room, I crept down the corridor, sat in the shadows to listen."

"Well that was a stupid thing to do." Draco lay down, pulled the blankets up to his chin, and rolled over, his back to Zabini. He didn't have to put pressure on his bruised side that way either.

"I heard him talking to them, Malfoy. He wanted information, he offered room to new recruits, he gave them more orders."

"Anything interesting?"

"They talked about you too," Zabini said, neglecting the question. "Boor was going to hand you over to him."

"He mentioned that."

"He came looking for you. I had to dash back to the room to avoid him, so he wouldn't know I'd been listening. He asked me where you were and didn't believe me when I told him I didn't know. He grabbed me by the collar and shook me. I've never seen him so angry."

Draco pushed the covers back and sat up, turning to Zabini.

Zabini's steady gaze met Draco's across the dorm room. "He was furious. He was kicking the walls all the way back to the common room, grumbling to himself. You-Know-Who scolded him when he got there," Zabini added, his lips twitching. "Told him he shouldn't make so much noise, shouldn't let his emotions get to him like that. When Boor told him you weren't there, he said he hadn't expected you to be. Said you were more clever than that. He complimented you because of me."

"I'm not trying to curry his favor, Zabini," Draco said with frown. It was perhaps the last thing he wanted. He tried to smother the memory of that lipless mouth turned up at the corners, a white finger running along the side of his face, making him shiver, that voice like poisoned honey humming, _"My Draco."_ He didn't want to shiver again in front of Zabini, didn't know if Zabini would be able to tell from his bed.

Zabini shrugged. "It's still got to be worth something, a compliment from him. He's a powerful wizard."

Draco frowned more deeply. "He can keep it."

Zabini shrugged again, lay back against the pillows, his eyes on the green velvet canopy. Draco was about to mimic him when Zabini asked, "What would he have done to you?"

Draco looked over at him, but Zabini didn't turn to meet his stare. "Killed me," Draco told him quietly. "Probably. After torturing me. He'd have made me beg first if he could. If I couldn't- until I couldn't take it any longer. That's what I would do." Quietly, he explained, "I left. I escaped. He's not happy." Draco echoed words the Dark Lord had once said to him, "He keeps his own." Boor's voice came drifting into Draco's mind, _"You embarrass me, and you'll pay."_ Draco had embarrassed the Dark Lord. Boor's revenge was the least of his worries.

Zabini rolled over to look at him, but Draco lay down again, turned away before he could meet the boy's dark gaze.

"I hope you found somewhere nice to hide, Malfoy," Zabini said after a minute in which Draco heard nothing but the cackling of the flames and his own short breaths.

"I did," he said.

_A/N: So, I believe I know where the next chapter is headed and that's always good news (better yet, it should be a fun chapter). Plus, it's Spring break and theoretically I'm not as bogged down with true work. You may have your latest rewrite soon, but until then, keep well and please review. I hope you enjoyed chapter 8._

_Yours forever,_

_Tsona_


	9. Starry Eyed Surprise

_A/N: First, my Muse apparently tricked my brain. This was not an easy chapter to write; it was a PAINSTAKING chapter to write. Some days I was able to write no more than 2 lines. So, I'm sorry it took so long to get up. I truly was working as fast as possible. On that note: Oh gosh. The people I could dedicate this to! With huge thanks to my mother who got the initial ball rolling, Rebekahek623 for so many late night editing sessions as I slogged through this, her boyfriend and a guy friend of mine who helped us figure out one of the scenes..._

_Yours forever, Tsona_

"Draco."

Draco shuddered at that purr. He knew the way his lipless mouth would be turned up at the corners, knew the fire that would roil in the red eyes. It was the same tone he had taken with Draco in his final days at Durmstrang, when a single word might have tipped the scales toward Draco's death.

"My Draco, you are avoiding me."

He played for time, for distance, even as the office became more solid around him: the shut door, the dark furniture touched by the low firelight. No windows. And behind him, he knew, the desk with its black leather armchair and- "Am I, my lord?"

"I came for you."

"I know."

"I thought you might."

"You came to kill me."

"It needn't end in death. Not for you."

Draco clenched his fists, as much to stop the trembling in his fingers as to keep them warm in the cold office as to steady the small trickle of annoyance that was slipping into his blood. "I told you no."

"You haven't heard my offer."

"I know what you'll say. You want me back. You won't hurt me. You only want me there to kill for-"

"You've forgotten, I think," the Dark Lord said delicately, "what I once told you. Not so long ago, really. That I had axes."

Draco hadn't forgotten. But the memories of that last day at Durmstrang were blurred, as if seen through a heat haze. His mind had gone from numb to frenzied in mere hours; it had taken its toll. Draco echoed what he could recall, "What you need is a... what word did you use?"

His white hand reached around, snared Draco around the chest, turned him around with a force that might have winded him- or maybe it was being touched by him again, when a part of him thought he might be asleep, might still be safe in Hogwarts. His hand fastened on Draco's shoulder as Draco looked into the long, white skull of his face, into the furnaces of his eyes, alight again with that manic fire that was akin to greed. A shudder ran deep through Draco, his every nerve, every muscle. "An accomplice," the Dark Lord hissed, the corners of his mouth bent like a bowstring. "You fled, Draco. You fled from that life before you knew what it could be."

"I couldn't," Draco whispered. "I can't do it. I can't do what you ask of me. I wouldn't want to if I could."

"I only wish to see you perform the curse once."

"I couldn't come with you," Draco admitted.

Dropping his voice low, pitching it soft, the Dark Lord asked, "What prevents you, my Draco?" A long, white finger ran along the edge of Draco's face, made him shiver again, like water made to ripple by the mere weight of a dead leaf.

"I don't know."

"You do."

"I can't explain. I don't understand it."

The Dark Lord looked into his eyes and Draco looked helplessly back as he felt the Dark Lord's magic reaching toward his mind, as he tried with all his will to throw up any barrier around the secret he kept, that he didn't understand. He thought of Hogwarts, of its turrets and its torchlit hallways, of its whispering portraits and squeaking armor. And he thought of himself wandering the warm corridors- alone.

And in the back of his mind, long pushed backward and ignored, his aunt's voice faintly hissed, _"Clear your mind. Clear your mind of all emotion, all desire."_

"_But, Auntie-"_

"_You have to clear your mind of anything that might betray you."_

_

* * *

_

Draco stared out over the smooth surface of the lake, remembering- was it really a year and a half ago?- standing on the steps of Hogwarts, surrounded by his peers- Slytherins who had honored him, had looked to him for guidance- and watching the prow of Durmstrang's ship rise from roiling waters. He had nudged Crabbe and Goyle, one on either side, to draw their attention to the disturbance. What did they think of him now- as much as they thought? What did they know of Boor's plan for him? Were they glad it had failed?

The weather was turning warmer now. That earthy aroma that people called "spring" was carried in the breezes that ruffled his feathery, too long hair.

Draco knew he ought to appreciate it- particularly after his near scrape with death- but he just rested his chin on drawn-up knees and felt the pang of the bruise on his side, a tangible reminder of how much things had changed since that October day.

"Draco?"

And then there was Alana. That was only more proof of the changes. Who would have guessed that he, Draco Malfoy, king of Slytherin, would spend time with a girl from Gryffindor- and enjoy it? He couldn't deny that he did. Not to himself. His only question was how much.

"_Did I overstep my boundaries when I- you know?"_

"_No, you didn't,"_ he had said.

"Can- can I join you?"

"Sure. You can."

He could feel her as she neared- sense her without looking- knew by the movement he caught from the corner of his eye that she lowered herself beside him. Very near. He peeked as she drew her knees up to her chest too. She kept her eyes turned away from him, looking at the fresh grass, a bright green in the early spring weather. Her fingers curled around a leaf and pulled at it. Draco wondered if she too could see the shattered remains of his walls, left like glittering dew in the patchy shade of the beech. It had only been a week- just last Saturday- since she had taken him down here and they had talked.

"I looked for you at breakfast," she said.

"I've been down here awhile. I went to breakfast early this morning."

"Oh." That was all she said, but Draco doubted it was all she meant. He was not used to seeing her lips turned down as they were now, or her eyes-

"Your House still not talking to you?"

"No," Alana admitted. She turned to look at him. "Do you feel like this all the time?"

Draco tried to suppress a smile. "You get used to it," he assured her.

A small voice in the farthest, blackest corner of his mind hissed, _You shouldn't have to. You wouldn't have to if-_

Draco's mouth turned downward and he tried to suppress the image of the Dark Lord's scimitar smile, the remembrance of the tingling in his fingers that was dragon fire coursing through his veins. He said quietly to Alana, "Besides, it's not as if you've no one to talk to. You've got me."

He thought Alana's mouth twitched at the quip. "I do have you. But, God, I hope this ends soon," she said. Her head dropped to her knees with a blustery breath.

Draco looked at her sideways. "I'm afraid I'm not the one to be telling you how to mend relationships. But I wouldn't think that'd be that hard for you?"

"I can be horribly pigheaded." Alana looked up to meet his gaze once more. She was smiling softly now, in a way that had become almost familiar and almost- "Draco? Can you meet me tonight?"

Draco hadn't expected the question. "Tonight?"

She nodded. "At the entrance to Gryffindor maybe?"

His eyes strayed to the ground. "What time?"

"Say, a quarter to eleven?"

Why in Merlin's name could she want to meet him at the entrance to her dormitory? And so late? He remembered his former girlfriend Athene's slow smile again, her painted lips bright against her pale skin, a gleam in her grey eyes. But Alana couldn't be asking him to-

"I don't think your portrait would like it much," Draco warned, pulling a grass sward loose, fiddling with it.

"The Fat Lady can keep her fat mouth shut," Alana grumbled. "Will you come?" she asked again. "Please?"

Draco looked up. "Yes," he found himself saying. Her eyes were so round, her plea so earnest and so evident in her open face. "But," he added in an attempt to be rational; reason seemed to have so little effect on him when she was near- so much seemed not to have an effect on him when she was near, so much could be forgotten if only till she left his side, "do I get to know why?"

Alana smiled slowly, looking in that moment not unlike Athene. The expression was at least as disarming in her softer, younger face and just as playful. "I'd rather it be a surprise. Bring your cloak, though."

It might have been meant as a hint, but to Draco the caveat just didn't make sense.

* * *

At ten thirty that night, Draco wrapped his cloak around his shoulders.

"Where are you going?" Zabini demanded, looking up from his book.

"Out," Draco said, his eyes on the clasp as he did it up. "I don't know."

"It's after hours."

Draco looked up to see Zabini frowning at him. "I know that."

Zabini's gaze was sharp and Draco had to fight not to look away. "I would have thought, after- with You-Know-Who-"

"Zabini, I'm safer outside Slytherin than in it. Besides, he won't make nightly appearances."

Draco turned to leave, but at Zabini's words, he spun back around. "She's not one of us, Malfoy," Zabini said, watching him from the bed.

"What?"

"That girl. She's not from Slytherin. Slytherins and Gryffindors have never gotten along."

"Oh, what do you know, Zabini?"

Zabini laid aside his book, pages down. "I know what you were like when you had Athene Thornehill. And I know you're acting differently with this one."

Draco struggled to keep his mouth straight, thought he felt the corners jump.

"We all heard what you said in the entrance hall. Just- just remember, Malfoy, she might not always be able to see past the Slytherin. None of the others ever seem to be able to."

Draco frowned and turned away again. Zabini's expression was almost pitying and, from him, it was demeaning. It said he knew more than Draco did, was wiser. "You don't know her, Zabini," Draco declared.

His hand was on the door knob when Zabini stopped him with, "Just tell me one thing: Are you seeing her? I mean, like that?"

Draco considered a moment. Was he seeing Alana? Romantically? Well, perhaps he was. Was she? He answered with the only response that seemed truthful, the only one that seemed sensible: "Maybe."

After that interrogation, Draco was pleased to find the narrow hallway to the common room dark and empty. He didn't bother to light his wand, but let his hand trail along the rough stone and gave himself up to thought. Alana didn't see him as other people did; he was sure of that; she didn't think he was a Death Eater. So why should she see him as others in Gryffindor did when it came to his House? She wouldn't. Right?

The fire was still lit in the common room, though its light was dim. Draco stood against the threshold, where the firelight touched him, but he was still not out in the open, could be out of the range of gazes and curses quickly. There were several people grouped around the fire. Callous Boor was prominent among them, seated in one of the leather, wing-backed chairs- not unlike the Dark Lord's at Durmstrang. He was smirking as he eyed Pansy Parkinson leaning back on her palms on the hearth rug, her chest thrown out, perhaps intentionally to catch Boor's attention. Draco wondered that he didn't feel more- anger, jealousy, disgust- at seeing her looking at another with that craving, that possessive enthusiasm. Draco had once been the only one around whose arm Pansy had wrapped her fingers, her painted nails curling into the flesh, the only one on which she had trained round eyes, dark with passion. He had smirked then and let her, had fed her only enough to keep her attention. He hadn't paid her much mind since he'd gotten back, hadn't even realized she'd transferred her attachments. Now, knowing the switch had occurred, he was ready, even a little eager, to let her go.

Several others were arranged around Boor's feet. Only a younger boy, leaning with his elbows on the low table, was facing Draco. His head was right now turned though toward a lanky sixth year sitting cross-legged next to Boor's chair, who was saying something in a low voice. Younger students knew their place in Slytherin. Now, if ever, was Draco's chance to cross unseen; likely, the boy would not let his attention wander from the sixth year.

Draco pulled up his hood, just in case, and slipped out into the room, making for the stairs up to the sliding wall. It opened and he passed into the corridor. None of the Slytherins had called him back or gotten out of their seats. He breathed a quick sigh before again moving as silently as he could. He may have evaded his own House, but there was still Filch to worry about; his cat, Mrs. Norris; and Peeves. He kept to the shadows, avoided brushing the walls lest the woolen cloak tickle awake any of the portraits, and hoped.

He smiled to see that the Fat Lady was asleep too when he arrived. He could not imagine she would be glad to see him, this late at night especially. And alone. Alone he could not even claim to know the password. She would have every right to send him away or, worse still, to fetch someone to put him in detention. He crept past her and hovered by the side of her frame, where he hoped he'd be invisible if she happened to start in her sleep and crack an eye. He leaned back against the wall, drawing a foot up to balance and crossing his arms. He looked toward the Fat Lady's shut frame. Alana would come. She was coming.

Draco was checking his watch- which read 11:52- when the Fat Lady's painting inched open and Alana climbed over the threshold.

"Gryff," Draco breathed, straightening and coming to meet her.

Alana looked up and painted a faint smile on her face. "I knew you'd come," she told him quietly. She pushed the portrait shut behind her and they moved on several paces, Alana's gaze falling to her feet, Draco falling into step beside her, before he dared to speak again.

"You don't seem thrilled," he observed. In his mind, he was formulating new theories on why she might have called the meeting. Was she about to tell him this had all been some dreadful mistake? That her friends had convinced her that she was wrong to trust him? Had she called the Aurors? Or been questioned by them? Had she-

"Ginny and Kari saw me leaving," she explained hollowly, her eyes on her own moccasin-shod feet.

"They said something to you?" Draco asked warily.

"Gin told me if I got into trouble, they weren't going to come after me to help."

"Do you expect to get into trouble tonight?" Draco asked carefully, watching her face.

She helpfully looked up to meet his gaze, smiling now. "No. But," she added, her smile slipping, "that doesn't stop it from hurting."

Draco's fingers stretched, then the hand curled in upon itself. Alana didn't seem to have noticed, so he looked away, looked to the portraits and tapestries and statues. And froze. "Wait. Are we headed-"

"To the Astronomy Tower."

"That's what I thought. Alana-" Draco was thinking of the many couples who went up to the tower when classes weren't in session. It was out of the way, quiet, chilly, and the sky made a fantastic canopy for an open-air mattress. He shook his head and blinked to see Alana's expression, to see her patiently waiting for his question. "Are you sure there aren't classes?" he asked, not daring to meet her eye. What right had he to taint her innocence- and her expression, her round face, and dark eyes all spoke of her innocence- with questions about-

"It's Saturday," Alana reminded him easily.

Draco nodded and led her several steps further. She walked beside him now, syncing her steps to his.

"And, er," Draco tried, still not meeting her gaze, "why are we going to the Astronomy Tower?"

"You'll see," Alana declared and took the lead again.

Draco followed her along the corridors in silence, trying not to fall behind as he gave his thoughts rein, let his imagination compose images that frightened him, images that made his heart flutter, his temperature climb so that he looked sideways to make sure Alana gave no sign of feeling the heat he was sure rose off his skin. His mind's eye saw her leaning backward, away from him, but her hand was warm on his neck and steady, was dragging him down with her. His hands were in her hair. Her hair smelled like- like- He didn't know what she smelled like; he so rarely got that close. He stopped to let her climb the narrow spiral staircase to the tower first, watched her pass, and tried to catch the perfume. Her smile distracted him.

"I really think you'll like this," Alana told him, looking back as she began to climb the dark stairs.

Draco smiled vaguely and followed after her, close behind. He kept his eyes on his feet, tried not to stare, tried to think of something to say to her, but not knowing what was in store, he didn't know what to say. Should he be reassuring? Witty? Should he just keep silent? Should he be trying to talk her out of this?

Alana pushed open the door to the tower's platform and stepped back to let him through. Draco let himself pass her out into the open air. A quick check assured him that the rampart was empty apart from themselves and he returned his gaze to Alana. She closed the door behind herself and, turning, smiled at him.

"Look up," she said.

He did. His mouth opened of its own accord, the better to take in the cool night air, clear and crisp. His eyes grew wide to catch the silvery light of the hundreds of stars shooting across the black velvet sky to disappear behind the deeper black silhouettes of the mountains that surrounded the castle and Hogsmeade. His eyes followed one of the streaming tails down, across the sky, till it led his gaze to Alana. She was looking up at the sky, with the stars' light and the light of the moon catching in her hair, alighting on her shoulders, and making her face the palest blue of a winter's evening, lovely but too distant, awakening a desire for warmth, for fires and-

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

The thought, _You're beautiful_, instantly stole into his mind, but Draco stoppered the words before they climbed his throat and nodded mutely instead.

Alana asked him softly, her breath a silver-blue mist, "Do you remember when you told me to turn the world right-side up?"

Draco remembered his acid tone- _"You really want to help, O'Toule?_"- and grimaced. Why would she remind him of that? Here? Now?

Her gaze wandered onto him, watching for his reaction, and he tried to straighten his face again, looked out toward the horizon where the stars vanished, where they became lost. East- out over the Forbidden Forest, where the mountains were farthest. Did Durmstrang see the stars too?

"They say, if you make a wish on a shooting star, it'll come true."

Draco scowled, sensing the meaning behind her words. "You think a wish is supposed to make this all better?" he sneered. He didn't like to sneer at her, didn't like to see the frown that weighed down those soft lips of hers. He turned his back to her and took a couple of steps away, breathing deeply that cold air, letting it steal the warmth from his veins, temper the hot pulse of his blood. Finding himself at the battlement, he crossed his arms and leaned over it, but kept his eyes trained on the star-strewn heavens. The wishes he might make were as numerous as those stars, but every vain hope, like those, would disappear behind the mountains. What he wanted to change was beyond the control of humans, of magic, stars, or any other supernatural power. Who had yet discovered a branch of magic that could erase the past? Why should he then try to do so? "Wishing," he muttered ill-temperedly, "never did anybody any good."

Alana pursued him, met him beside the parapet and leaned her arms against it too, watching him. "Wishing," she said calmly, "never did anyone any harm, either."

Draco sighed heavily, his breath escaping in a cloud of silver. He dropped his gaze to the dark landscape of the castle unfolding beneath them. It was a mass of spires, a labyrinth of walkways and tower tops. Every so often a window threw out a stretch of gleaming light. A shadow crossed one of the beams, distorting it.

Alana looked down too at the lay of the castle, silent.

"What would you wish for?" he threw suddenly, swinging his gaze to her.

She started. "Me?" She turned to look up at the thin crescent of the moon, leaning against the wall. The light was bright on her face, in her eyes, and in her hair. That moon seemed to absorb her thoughts, or reflect her wish back to her. "I'd wish to meet my dad," she whispered softly, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the silver sliver.

"See?" he cried triumphantly, if moodily. "Perfect example!" Draco continued, his tone growing sympathetic when she turned on him with her hands on her hips and a deep frown on her face, "There're just some things that have no remedy. Like death." He hesitated a moment, looked away, back down at that dark tangle of the castle. "And birth."

The pronouncement seemed to trip her anger. "You wish you were never born?" she asked, surprised into sympathy.

Draco didn't look to check her expression against her tone but turned around to face the open rampart too, kept his eyes averted, turned his face away from her. He wondered how much he could reveal. Already he could feel the iron bands tightening on his heart, ready to wring salty tears from it with a knifelike twist. "There're a lot of things I wish, Gryff," he said carefully. "Never having been born among them sometimes. When I'm not with you." Sighing, he slid down the parapet into a sitting position, wrapped his arms around his bent legs. He let his head fall to his knees, but kept it turned away from her so that he only felt Alana slip down beside him. He heard her sigh too and then felt the warm weight of her hand upon his arm. He flinched and hoped she didn't notice; her hand had found the Dark Mark, but he knew she didn't know it. When he looked up at her, she had her eyes on the moon.

"It's just-" Draco started quietly. The words got lost on the way to his mouth so, swallowing them back down, he tried again. "I've lived through almost a whole life's worth of mistakes. What would it be like to start clean? To escape all the weight of all of that entirely?"

Her face remained impassive, quiet. He wasn't even entirely sure she had heard him.

"Maybe..." Alana sighed, then transferred her gaze to him. "Maybe you needed the mistakes to get here?"

Draco quirked a half-smile. "To you, you mean? That's all that's here, really."

Alana smiled at that and looked away to hide the beam. "There must be something else."

"Not much."

His hand strayed toward her, reached across himself to touch her hand, where it lay atop his left arm. He pried it from the Dark Mark, cupped it between his two hands. Though she kept her head turned, he saw her smile grow even wider, her mouth open to show the flash of teeth.

"You really shouldn't talk like that unless you mean it. People will think you're in love," she quipped.

"Maybe I am." The impromptu confession frightened a frown back onto his face. Alana turned toward him, her expression suddenly sober, maybe noticing the sudden stiffening in his arms, the tightness of his fingers. His gaze found hers and he asked quietly, "How would I know?"

"Oh Draco," she moaned, "don't-"

He shook his head and his hands snaked back, letting go of hers, found a perch crossed on his knees instead. "I'm not saying it to be dramatic or anything, Gryff. I want to know."

"Know?"

"What love feels like."

"Why are you asking me?" She almost squeaked it, as though frightened.

"Because I don't think I know," was his steady answer. "Because I'm not sure I've ever loved- or been loved." He'd have said once that he had loved Athene, but he remembered what Zabini had said just now: _"I know what you were like when you had Athene Thornehill. And I know you're acting differently."_ If the two were so different- felt so different, affected him so differently- then they couldn't both be love. Could they? "But I can only imagine you have."

When he looked to Alana for her reaction, her gaze was again trained on the moon. Was she avoiding his glance intentionally? Perhaps trying to evade the question? The part of him that was still beneath his father's heel, expected Alana to be angry with him, to say he was being ridiculous and that he shouldn't worry himself with hopeless fantasies that would never achieve anything for him, to say that no one would ever love him, or that there was no such thing. The part of him that knew her, maybe loved her, was better prepared for her answer, when it finally came, seeming to rise from her on a breath of silver mist, "I'm not really sure whatto tell you, Draco."

He waited a moment before she went on.

"There's just so many opinions out there, each different. Some people say it's a warm, fuzzy sort of feeling you get when you're near someone, others that it's never being lonely around a person. I think... I think being loved is like knowing that, no matter what happens, you'll always have a place to go home to. Yeah," she mused. "That's it."

"And loving someone?"

"Well I don't know," she admitted, turning those dark, earnest eyes on him again, her lips turned up in a faint smile. "Knowing that, no matter what faults a person might have or what mistakes he might make, you'll still let him back in, I guess."

Their eyes met then. He looked past the stars reflected in hers, darting in and out of sight. "You really are beautiful, you know that, Gryff?"

She smiled, dropped her gaze. "You're beautiful too, Draco."

He let out a short, quiet laugh. "With all my mistakes, you mean?"

Alana hesitated, raised her eyes to his again, then nodded once.

Draco hadn't expected her to agree, knew that she knew as well as he did the weight she herself had assigned to the positive answer. His hands fell to the flagstones, bracing himself. His eyes grew wide. "I- I am?"

Alana nodded once again and smiled slowly, lovelily.

He was very near her; he hadn't realized how near till now. Now when they stared at one another, their shallowing breaths mingling in a single silver cloud between them. He could almost feel the heat rising from her. It enveloped her, enveloped him. Her eyes were very dark. He tumbled forward into them, following the stars. They shut a moment before-

Their lips touched. Tongues of flame seemed to snake between them, drawing them nearer, holding them fast to one another. His heart raced and the blackness behind his shut eyes exploded in a shower of stars, like the ones Alana had brought him to the rooftop to see. There were perhaps a thousand mini dragons caged in his stomach. They beat their reptilian wings against the lining. His stomach twisted violently inside of him, squirmed. And then he jerked back.

He scrambled backward, eyes wide now, taking in the light of the moon and stars that seemed so dim after- after- What had just happened? His hand was trembling. He noticed as he ran it through his hair, as he stepped backward, backward, away...

"Draco?"

Alana sat against the parapet, leaning forward a little as if still upon his welcoming lips. Her hands were in front of her, keeping her upright. He didn't know if she realized that the cleft of her breasts was just visible above the scoop of her sweater when she sat like that. Her eyes were wide and still dark. He stood now by the door to the stairs. But her eyes held him fast, as fascinated as a moth by a flickering flame, as spellbound as if the chains of fire that had flared when they touched were-

A muffled yelp.

Draco spun to face the door, taking great gulps of the cold air now, shutting his eyes a moment to try to rid himself of the afterimage of the stare that made him feel so much. He listened.

"Draco, don't go. Please."

"Stop it!" came through the door again. A girl's voice. "What are you-" Then another shout.

Alana was suddenly beside him. "What was-"

Draco drew his wand and yanked the door open. He tore down the dark stairs, the shouts and demands growing louder. Behind him he could hear Alana's scurrying footsteps. They passed a new scorch mark on the curved wall.

Reaching the base of the stairs, he threw an arm out to catch her. She barreled into it and was brought up short with a soft "oof."

Callous Boor was slinging curses at a girl with spiky hair, who was wearing pajamas beneath her thick cloak.

"_Protego! Expelliarmus!" _the girl cried as she danced backward away from Boor. "_Eek!_"

"KARI!"

Draco drew his wand and only just managed to deflect the curse Boor sent their way as he turned. Boor snarled and tried again. As the second curse exploded against the Shield Charm, Draco hissed, "Get back up the stairs."

"But Kari-" Alana protested, her voice soft in his ear, distracting.

He grit his teeth. "I'll take care of it. Go."

"No. I-"

The third curse was too much for his charm. The curse shattered the shield. Draco didn't wait to see whether Alana fled, but dashed forward, trying to draw the curses away from her. He began to fire back. "_Impedimenta! Expelliarmus!_"

Boor blocked his every curse as easily as he had blocked Kari's and just as silently. He let out a sharp laugh. "Too cowardly to try anything worse, Malfoy?"

Draco saw Kari over Boor's shoulder, pressed against the wall. He wanted to tell her to run, to make for the stairs and Alana, who had hopefully disappeared around the turn in them, but he didn't dare remind Boor she was there. "You don't deserve them," he said instead to the sixth-year.

Boor laughed again. "What difference should that make? Come on, Malfoy. Prove to me you're any threat. Prove the Dark Lord was right to see something in you."

Draco threw up another Shield Charm to ward off the spell Boor hurled toward him. It exploded before his face in a shower of sickly yellow sparks. Draco parried with a Jelly-Fingers curse. If he could just put Boor out of action...

But Boor only laughed as the spell bounced uselessly off the shield he conjured.

Draco saw an opening as Boor's head flew backward, tried something new. "_Incarcerous!_" The ropes flew toward Boor and soon had his arms fastened to his sides and his legs trussed together. He wiggled like a worm on the floor and Draco smirked, lowered his wand as Boor spewed oaths, insults, and threats.

Kari let out another tiny squeak and skirted around Boor. She ran toward Draco and he watched her, not without suspicion. "Malfoy," she breathed, coming up beside him. She kept her eyes down, bent on the hands that wrung the wand she held between them. "Thank you. I- If you hadn't come he-"

She froze as she looked toward Boor. Draco quickly followed her gaze. Boor was getting to his feet. The ropes were slithering off of him, hitting the floor in a thick, black coil. Kari gasped. Draco clenched both the hand around his wand and his jaw. "Get to the stairs," he managed to mutter, as the snake lifted its hooded head and Boor smiled slowly.

"Where's Harry Potter when you need him, eh, Malfoy?" he called.

"Keep Alana safe," Draco added as he raised his wand, remembering, as Boor clearly was, the failure of a dueling lesson from Draco's second year. Snape had made that snake vanish. So could Draco. He waited until Kari had scurried off, but did not turn to see where she'd gone. He kept his eyes on the snake as it slid forward, its forked tongue flickering. "_Evanesco_."

Boor's grin turned quickly into a frown as the snake vanished in a puff of smoke. A curse sailed over the brief-lived cloud, forcing Draco to dive sideways. It exploded on the castle wall, chipping the stone and sending the sharp splinters in all directions. He thought he heard a girl shriek, but could do nothing. If one of them got hurt... As the shattered stone clattered against the floor, Draco lowered his arms and lifted his head off the flagstones. Boor was already advancing, slowly, his smile growing wider. He had his wand fixed on Draco. Draco could not help but recall the cold snow and splintered ice of the grounds around Durmstrang, looking up to see a ring of Death Eaters in black, and just in front of him, the Dark Lord, with his skull-like face and steady yew wand. "Not so brave now, are you, Malfoy?" he said quietly.

"Boor," Draco said quietly to remind himself. He faced only Boor. The Dark Lord was no where nearby. Boor had no Death Eaters.

"Pleas won't work," Boor told him, misinterpreting the spoken name, and still drawing nearer.

Draco was already looking for another opening, another chance.

"The Dark Lord thought he would kill you the other night. He thought he would have you then. But you hid, too cowardly to show your face. Somehow you found out. Someone told you. And I want to know who. So I'm going to find out. And when I've found out, Malfoy, when I have the information I need, I'm going to call the Dark Lord-"

Boor was getting close now, too close.

"-and we'll see whether he wants you alive or-"

Draco moved fast. He whipped his wand off the floor and flung the spell: "_Stupefy!_" The red jet connected and the manic light left Boor's face.

He crumpled to the floor.

There was a soft scream, the patter of feet, and then arms flung themselves around Draco.

"Oh Draco! For a moment there I thought-"

"Alana," Draco breathed.

She dropped to her knees on the ground beside him. Her hand reached up, cupped around his face, turning it gently toward her. Draco kept his eyes down, but felt hers on him, searching. He reached a hand out slowly and took hers from her knee. Both hands were trembling just a little.

"Malfoy."

Draco looked up to see that Kari had come up behind Alana. It was easier to look at her than Alana. Kari was stunned; Alana, he was sure, would be horrified. He waited for her to speak, but though she opened her mouth, nothing came, and into her silence another voice called, "What's going on here?"

They all turned. Albus Dumbledore was coming up the corridor, his silver hair and beard slightly luminescent in the moonlight, his glasses flashing.

"Headmaster." Draco pulled Alana to her feet with him. They were not to do magic in the hallways and Draco held the guilty wand. It was only his word against the sixth-year Slytherin prefect's. He glanced at Alana, then at Kari. Would she back him? Would their oaths make any difference in the case? Dumbledore had already given him a second chance. He had allowed Draco back into Hogwarts even though he knew what Draco had been through, what Draco had seen and learned. Now he remembered Dumbledore approaching him with his eyes ablaze, his wand outstretched as the old fears of rejection returned. _"Traitor! You think you can return here to harm my students? Never! I cannot allow-_" He remembered too Hagrid's warning: _"Probably he'll give yeh a second chance. Yeh'd just bes' be sure yeh deserve it. Don' blow this un._"

Kari didn't meet Draco's eye, but looked at the wizard who now stood before them with a frown on his cragged face as he looked upon the inert form of Boor on the ground.

"It was my fault, Professor," she said. "I was wandering the hallways and I came upon-" She looked back at Boor.

"I see." Dumbledore smiled vaguely. "And do you frequently wander the halls without a purpose?"

Kari dropped her gaze to her sneakered toes. "Alana had told me she was going to the Astronomy Tower, sir. It had been an hour and a half and she wasn't back. I wanted to go make sure she was all right," she said, her voice rising in a plea as she raised her eyes to the headmaster.

Dumbledore shifted his steady gaze to Alana, standing beside Draco, clinging to his heavy arm. The corners of the headmaster's mouth, below his mustache, turned up in a slight smile.

"Sir, I took Draco up there to watch the stars. We didn't mean any harm. And I asked Professor Sinistra. I, er-" she reached into her pocket. "I have a note from her."

Draco tried to suppress a smile at Alana's thoroughness as Dumbledore took the note from her trembling hand, read it through to himself.

"And Mr. Boor?" Dumbledore asked them all after a moment.

Kari spoke first. "He was at the top of the stairs, sir. He turned his wand on me."

"Draco and I heard her scream, Professor, and came down. They were dueling."

"Well, it was more like an attack really," Kari admitted, smiling a little. "I couldn't get a proper curse on him. Mal-" she hesitated, swallowed "-Draco had to come rescue me."

Alana flashed her a quick smile.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore prompted, turning his blue eyes on Draco. Those eyes peeled the skin off of him, made him tremble again despite his exhaustion, despite his sore muscles. "You've been unusually silent about your part in this adventure."

Draco had to resist the urge to drop to his knees again before the headmaster. He had to resist the urge to beg now. If he were thrown out of Hogwarts, if he were expelled- "Sir," Draco said, dropping his head, "what more could I say? I dueled him. I can't deny that if you heard it."

"I wouldn't expect you to. By Miss Ollivander's account you came in quite heroically."

Draco raised his head, still wary, but hopeful. Quite heroically? Then he wasn't to be blamed?

"He's only Stunned, I assume?"

"Yes, sir. Just Stunned."

"Then I suggest that perhaps we leave him that way for now." The headmaster's eyes swept over the three of them. "He will have to go to the hospital wing."

"I'll do it," Kari volunteered.

"Very good," Dumbledore agreed, nodding. A wave of his wand conjured a floating stretcher. A second wave levitated the sagging body onto the cloth. "Tell Madam Pomfery I will be there shortly," Dumbledore told Kari. "And tell her also to leave him unconscious for now."

Kari nodded and began to walk away with the stretcher drifting in front of her.

"Sir," Draco said, and Dumbledore turned back toward him. "What will happen to Boor?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I do not yet know what I shall do. Attacking a student is no small thing, but," his blue eyes flashed and Draco shivered under his searching gaze, "would you expect me to offer him any less than I offered you?"

"No, sir," Draco said quietly.

Dumbledore smiled then and said much more lightly, "I'm afraid this whole affair has interrupted your quiet evening. I think that I will leave the two of you to yourselves, but Draco," he added, "I shall need to see you in the morning."

Draco agreed immediately, "Of course, sir." Alana's hand tightened on his, and he was suddenly very aware of her nearby, of her.

"Goodnight to you both," Dumbledore said and turned away.

Draco and Alana watched him leave, after a moment Alana managed to say, "Goodnight."

Draco turned to look at her then. She was smiling brightly, the moonlight flashing on her eyes. When Dumbledore had disappeared around the corner, she turned to meet his gaze. She held it a moment before leaning forward and kissing him lightly on the cheek, leaving a fiery imprint. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"You didn't have to fight him. You didn't have to save Kari."

"I did though. Once I'd heard- once I'd seen."

"Is that why you broke away from-" A flush and a blossoming smile ended her sentence.

"No," Draco admitted, looking down. Her hands were hanging loosely by her sides, white lilies. He reached out and wrapped one in his hands. He spoke to that flower, that symbol of innocence. "Alana," he said, "are you sure- Am I really what you want?"

"What do you mean?"

Draco looked up. "Do you really want someone who- me? You ought to be able to have your choice of men and if I'm not-"

"Do you want me?" she demanded.

Draco wanted to give her a sensible answer, something equivocal that made no promises and no demands, but a candid, "Yes," forced its way past all the others.

"Then," Alana smiled, "you're the one I want." With her free hand, the one that was not caught in his, she reached up and around his neck. He bent his neck at her insistence and their lips met again in a second flash of fire.

When they broke apart, Draco muttered, "I'm just afraid I'll hurt you."

_A/N: I want to remind you, first, that the original version of this chapter was written and published pre-HBP. I had no idea how much Draco's story line would focus on the Astronomy Tower; I was thinking far more of fanon uses (which are altogether not about class). That being said, I think it's really great to see the ironic parallel of JKR's Draco's choices and the choices of mine. I hope too that you caught the parallel to the Unbreakable Vow. Yeah, I added that one in post-HBP and, I admit, post being told I wasn't allowed to describe a kiss using the word "spark." I'm so glad that that dictum was laid down. It did greatly improve my writing. And oh! there's another person to thank. :)_

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	10. The Most Lethal Weapon

_A/N: Happy summer vacation!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_

The following day was Sunday. Others- Zabini included- used the day off to sleep in, so Draco crept out of the room not long after waking and found the common room empty and dim. A house-elf had swept the ashes and piled new logs on the iron grate of the fireplace. Draco set them alight with a quick spell before turning to pull one of the wing-backed chairs nearer the hearth. The air of the dungeon was damp and cool after the nighttime lull and he was glad of the warmth, as he sat, that seeped from the flames, painting his pale hands with an orange glow.

Alana had touched those hands last night, when they had been blue from the moonlight. Those same hands that she had held had held her. He turned them over. They looked no different than they ever had- and maybe they weren't. Those same hands, Draco reminded himself, had also held his wand last night- his wand, with which he had fought Boor. _"Too cowardly to try anything worse, Malfoy? Prove to me the Dark Lord was right to see something in you. Prove you're a threat. And when I have the information I need, I'm going to call-"_

But Dumbledore had called him heroic. Heroic. It wasn't a word Draco had ever tried, ever even considered applying to himself. Who would call a Slytherin heroic? That was a word for Gryffindors like Potter. So much less a Slytherin with his past. A fallen Slytherin, made the Dark Lord's pet, who then had made so many mistakes that he had been expelled by him, and expelled by the rest of the House for it. The Dark Lord, Slytherin's heir indeed.

That only brought Draco back to Boor. How long would it be before word spread that they had dueled? What would Dumbledore do to Boor? What would he do to Draco? How much longer would it take till Boor told everyone what he, Draco Malfoy, had been doing? where he had been? and with whom?

Draco expected to feel his stomach squirm at the thoughts of the Slytherins' reactions. He knew that they would laugh and sneer. He would be labeled a "blood-traitor," but was that any worse than the traitor he already was? More, he found, he worried how she would react. The Slytherins would not leave Alana spotless, nameless either. What they would call her, he didn't know, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant. _ "Siren." "Niffler." "Fool." _ But so long as she didn't mind, so long as she would bear it, would not push him away to escape it-

"_Do you want me?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Then,"_ she had said, _"you're the one I want."_

If only he could believe it would be that simple. But love- love- What did he know of love? How could he hold on to her if that's what she wanted?

"_I'm just afraid I'll hurt you."_ That was true enough. He sighed, rubbing his hands together.

"Callous?"

Draco looked up and around the chair. One of the other Slytherin boys was up now and was peering into the common room from the hallway toward the dorms. Draco thought he was probably a sixth-year, one of Boor's dorm-mates. The boy leaned back against the stone wall with a leer when Draco turned toward him. "Oh," he said. "It's _you_." Then, without another word, he turned, and Draco breathed a soft sigh. At least he hadn't been questioned. It was worth facing that kind of revulsion if he didn't have to reveal what he'd done. Maybe Alana would agree. Did she sleep in?

* * *

Draco was to be found not an hour later climbing the steps from the dungeon. As people had begun to come into the common room- some still groggy with sleep, stumbling about in pajamas, others dressed and primped, heading toward breakfast or an hour of work or pleasure with bright eyes- he'd grown more and more anxious to leave. And yet he didn't want to eat alone, didn't want to miss her. He felt that, after last night, she would expect him, would be disappointed if she couldn't find him. Athene had certainly attached herself to him- at least when the late night hours came, as the fire was dying and the common room was emptying.

He shook his head, trying to quell the smile that still came to his lips. It would be best not to compare the two, he was beginning to think. Alana felt- different. He recalled Athene's kisses as flashes of fire, hot from the first, consuming him, and then pulling quickly away. Alana lingered. The fire of Alana's kiss crept along the edge of a piece of parchment. It warmed him from the lips downward, like the first sip of butterbeer after hours in the swirling snow. He had a hard time letting go of her.

With his mind employed, his feet carried him up the familiar passages and stairs, but he noticed little until he heard his name.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He stopped, shook his head, and looked around at Professor Snape, who stood behind him in the hallway and whose dark eyes were already fixing on Draco's, were beginning to stare deeper than the surface as only Snape and perhaps Dumbledore could- the Dark Lord didn't seem to need eye-contact. Draco turned his gaze downward, hoping to hide his wayward thoughts. "Professor," he said in greeting.

The silence stretched between them and still Snape did not release Draco from his gaze, while Draco's thoughts flitted away from Alana to ponder why Snape might be subjecting him to such a scrutiny. He remembered Boor's sneer as he advanced slowly, wand steady, the frantic jet of red, and then the sneer crumpling. Snape of course would have had to have been told. Boor was his student, in his House. Over this thought came Snape's command, "Come with me."

"Why?" The question broke from Draco at a higher octave than he had anticipated and he threw his gaze downward to avoid the smirk he expected from his Head of House. Draco wasn't sure he wanted to give evidence against Boor. He didn't want to know what Boor would do to him if-

Snape let out a short, annoyed breath. "It is the headmaster's privilege," he said brusquely, "to appoint the prefects, Mr. Malfoy, not mine. Callous Boor is a natural leader." His voice dropped, "I only wish we had known then where he would lead the others."

To the Dark Lord. Draco frowned. "You were there too, sir," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the floor.

The pause was sharp and the air seemed to grow heavy with Snape's sudden anger. "Here," he said, "is hardly the place to discuss that."

Draco met his gaze with a glare. Draco had to talk about it. Everyone talked about it around him. He noticed that the Potion master was looking much less impressive, his dark eyes darting sideways, his head bowed. "Where would you like to discuss it, sir?"

Snape's eyes flashed back onto him. "My office, Malfoy. Now." Snape turned and sailed down the stairs before Draco, who followed him a sulky silence, though it was not at all the response he had expected.

When Snape had shut the door behind Draco, he swept around him to settle into the chair behind the desk. He motioned Draco toward the straight-backed, wooden chair on the opposite side and watched Draco with narrowed eyes and steepled sallow fingers.

"I did not realize you were bitter."

"I'm not bitter," Draco lied automatically, throwing his gaze downward into a dark corner of the office.

"You are. But I fail to see what I have done to deserve it. After all, it was I who got you out."

Draco let out a sharp bark of laughter. "You didn't. I got myself out. You refused to help me, remember?"

Snape's mouth curved upward. "But who gave you your signal? Who allowed himself to be cursed?"

Draco remembered the quiet voice in his head: _Now, Draco._ He had thought then it had been the odd power that the Dark Lord had awoken in him speaking, the thing that felt like a dragon inside of him. Later, with a clearer head, he had thought of adrenaline and instincts. But Snape...? "Sir," he said now without hostility, "whose side _are_ you on? If that was you...?" Once before he had come near asking the Potion's master that question, but Snape had avoided answering.

Snape was still smiling when he said, "Can't I just be working for your survival?"

Draco raised his eyes to meet the professor's, sticking out a pointed chin. "I want to know."

Snape held his gaze for several moments, then with a sigh, reached into his robes. Draco had to control the impulse to flinch as he raised his wand- would Snape punish him for overstepping his bounds? But Snape merely swung the wand through the air. Draco didn't think anything had happened, but Snape put his wand down on the desktop. As Draco looked around the room for something that had changed, even minutely, Snape explained, "Merely a precaution, Draco. We won't be overheard now."

Draco swung back around to face him. "So you'll tell me?"

Snape shook his head. "No, Draco, I cannot."

"Then why-" Draco began angrily, but Snape held up a hand to stop him.

"I cannot be open with you, Draco," he continued. "I think you know that. Anything I say to you could get back to the Dark Lord. _That_," Snape said, his black eyes burrowing into Draco's wide ones, "is all I will say on the subject of my loyalties." He allowed Draco to ponder this for several minutes before asking, "Are you happier here?"

Draco tried to hide the smile that jumped onto his lips as he recalled Alana's smile, her dark eyes just before- "Yeah," he said, "I am."

"Then I suppose you need no more advice from me."

"You're not going to tell me off for dueling?"

"No. I think perhaps I will not," Snape smiled. "You seem to know what I am supposed to say, as your Head of House." Snape continued to watch him. "I'm also supposed to tell you, though," he said, "that killing is never an answer."

This jerked Draco from more pleasant thoughts. "What?"

Snape shrugged. "The Headmaster said you would perhaps be well-served by that reminder."

"He thinks I'd-"

"I don't know what he thinks."

"Boor attacked _me_," Draco reminded.

"I am merely passing on the information. If you have complaints, I'd suggest you make them to the headmaster."

"Yeah," Draco said, "maybe I wi-"

"Draco." Snape's voice took on a sudden note of urgency that made Draco meet his dark gaze again. "It is good advice. And you would do well to remember it."

"But, sir," Draco said, bewildered. "I wouldn't- I couldn't-"

"Remember it, Draco."

Draco, staring, slowly nodded.

"If that is settled, then, I suppose you had best leave."

Just like that? Draco stood nevertheless. Snape didn't move, even as Draco began to back toward the door. It was only after he was through it and had shut the door behind himself that he believed Snape had had his final word.

That, Draco decided quickly, had been a very strange conversation. Killing is never an answer? He knew that. And anyway, he hardly could have used it as one if he had wanted to... that was why he had run. Or that was the bite that made the winged horse buck.

He turned his back on Snape now and began to climb again. He didn't want to have to think about that- any of that. But now he kept remembering his conversations with Snape in flashes: _"I- I can't make myself mean it." _

"_We're alone, Draco. He won't hear you here." _

"_Take me with you?"_

"_This isn't something I can help you with."_

"_With all respect, sir, if you're not going to help me-"_

And now the final, quiet words that Snape had said to him on those snowy grounds, had spoken then in his mind: _"Now, Draco."_

The sound of footsteps pulled Draco from these ruminations. Heavy footsteps coming towards him. He looked up and froze. On the flight above, Boor froze too.

The two stares met in a glare.

"Malfoy," Boor hissed, breaking the tense silence.

"Out of the hospital wing?" Draco shot.

"There was nothing wrong with me." Boor leered, "Thanks to you." He took a few more steps down, toward Draco. Draco tensed but did not move, merely continued to glare. "You should have hurt me," Boor said.

"What would that have done?"

"I'm going to get you back, Malfoy."

"I'd say that makes you a pretty poor loser."

"It was a lucky shot. Next time-"

Draco looked around. Some ways down, he guessed, Snape was still in his office, perhaps still sitting quietly in his chair, but otherwise the hallway was deserted. "There's no one here now. You want to-"

Draco felt something warm slip over him like shower water, clearing his mind, washing away the flickers of fear, the anxieties, the doubts. He looked up. A fine mist seemed to be covering his vision. Boor was grinning and his wand was out. Draco remembered himself and tried to reach for his too, but his arm wouldn't move. His fingers wouldn't move. He tried to look down at them, wanted to drop his jaw in surprise but-

"You shouldn't have looked away, Malfoy."

Boor.

"Do you like the Imperius? God, I can't wait to tell him. He's been on me to try for a while now."

Boor looked up at him, smiled more broadly. "The Dark Lord, I mean," he said as if he had read Draco's worst flash of insight. If he was Boor's prisoner than he was also the-

"Well, come on. I've changed my mind. I don't feel near as sulky now. We're going to breakfast. And-" Boor smiled wickedly "-I think you'll be sitting with your little girlfriend."

He turned and Draco, despite his every effort to remain still, to turn the other direction, anything! followed him. _Like a whipped dog_, Draco thought. _Like a bichon frisé._ And he couldn't even hang his head.

Boor marched before him to the Great Hall and did not pause as he made his way to the Slytherin table, where his friends greeted him and quickly put their heads together. Draco noticed that their gazes slid toward him as he stood in the doorway, but could not move, could not look away- until his body turned and he began to make his way toward Gryffindor. He would have dug his heels into the flagged floor, grabbed onto the doorjamb if he could have. Whatever purpose Boor had in sending him to find Alana, it could only be malicious.

She was sitting midway down the table, her head bent together with Kari's. He could see her bright smile through the haze across his vision. Kari was smiling too. They both looked up at him as he approached. Neither smile faded.

Draco felt himself sliding down onto the bench on Alana's other side. He could hardly feel her though their legs brushed one another. It was as though cold water separated them, made him numb. He wanted to reach out to grab her, to shake her, to get her to help, but he only sat there, looking at his hands limp in his lap.

Alana leaned toward him and her lips brushed against his face, but there was none of the fire of the night before. He was too numb. He wanted to see what Boor was up to, wanted to look over his shoulder. He knew he would see his gloating face- or would if Boor were paying him anymore than the most cursory attention. He would have liked to have looked at Alana and smiled, but his gaze remained downturned.

"Draco? Are you all right?"

If he could have shaken his head-

"Kari and I are friends again," she told him. Worry kept her voice low, soft, without any of the brightness he loved.

He couldn't even nod to let her know he'd heard.

"Draco?"

"I'm fine." The forced words- forced not by him, but by Boor- seemed flat to his own ears. Would Alana hear too? Could she possibly suspect? She'd probably never seen anyone under the Curse…

Her hand brushed along his forearm, to his hand, then splayed his fingers so that hers could nestle themselves between his. At least, he thought, he could be acted upon. But he knew his fingers didn't close on hers with the tightness, the reassurance she sought, she hoped for. There was a frown on her face when she leaned toward him and said in a voice that was barely audible, seemed grating for its quaver, its trepidation. "Draco? Is this about last night?"

Which part of last night? The kissing or- "Yes," the hollow voice answered. Not a lie. Not really.

Alana looked away from him, back toward Kari. Then her gaze returned to his, their cheeks nearly touching. "Is it-" he wanted to shut his eyes against the fear that made her voice tremble "-something I did?"

_Deny it_, Draco pleaded. _Please._ But Boor conjured a cold, "Yes."

"But-" now her voice rose a little and still Draco didn't look at her "-last night you said- You said I hadn't overstepped my bounds. You came toward me. I only reacted. I-"

Draco felt his shoulders rise in a shrug. And he knew- and he knew Alana knew too: He had pulled back. He had run. The power of that kiss had scared him. It would be easy for her to reach the conclusion that he didn't-

"I'm sorry," she continued. She had moved away from him now and her voice was louder, nearer a wail, keening. "I'm sorry, Draco. I thought-"

Again his lips were pried open. "You thought wrong," came that drone. "I don't want you. What would I do with a blood-traitor like you?" Draco, locked inside himself, flinched. The word was like the flick of a whip's tip. Never had it seemed so cruel. This morning he had thought he would hear the Slytherins insult her, but-

She jerked back, as violently as he had last night, with a gasp. Her hand flew from his, leaving his empty, cold. Draco watched her, but could not raise his gaze to meet hers. Boor wasn't letting him. He knew she might notice something, might suspect if she could see his eyes. Maybe.

"Draco- Draco, I-"

He was surprised to hear Kari's voice- or he thought it was Kari's- cut across her friend's stammer. "Alana-"

"He said he wanted me, Kari! He told me- Wait. No. He never did tell me he loved me," she realized. "Not really. Just- just- Draco! You didn't!"

_Didn't what? What didn't I do?_

"How could you use- after all I did for-"

"Alana, what did you do?" Kari gasped.

His head was forced up then and he thought for one moment he might be able to look at her, to tell her somehow, to let her see it wasn't true. But her head was turned away. Kari had grabbed her arm, horror painted across her face. Draco's eyes went to Alana though. Even with only the most marginal bit of her face visible behind the swath of her hair, which even now caught flecks of the sunlight, let them play there, he could see her pain. Were tears making her eyes seem brighter? Her cheeks were red. Her mouth was turned sharply downward as she screeched, "Let me go, Kari. Oh! Just let me go. Nothing. We didn't do anything. Not like-"

Draco's lips were forced open again and the words torn from him. "No. We didn't. I wouldn't. I wouldn't sully myself."

Kari's eyes widened and fastened for a moment on Draco's. _We didn't_, he thought at her desperately. _We didn't, but oh God! that's not why-_

Alana broke from Kari's slackened grip, leapt from the bench, and tore out of the hall, her hair flying, and her hands over her face. Draco was made to watch her, even as he felt Kari's eyes still on him. His gaze, on the way back to Kari's, passed over Boor, saw his leer, his glittering eyes.

Kari's eyes were still wide when he met their fierce gray stare. "You saved my life last night," she said quietly. "But if you break her heart-" She sighed, "I'm going after her," and got up from the table too to hurry after her friend.

Draco thought the torment might end with that. What more could Boor do to him here? now? He felt his neck being craned around and recognized the cloud of red hair. Ginerva Weasley covered the distance to him in a few furious strides, drew back her hand and-

His head flew sideways with the force of the blow to his cheek. He blinked and the pain spiked and for a moment he was-

The cloud of warmth again flooded his mind, sweeping away the sting, sweeping away the momentary rush of relief. He had been himself, if only for a few seconds. The pain had given him back his mind, his freedom. Even as Boor forced him to turn stony eyes on Weasley, he began to think.

"What did you do?" Weasley demanded.

Draco felt a smirk pulling at his lips. He opened his mouth to-

"No," Weasley cut across him. "Forget it. I'll go ask her myself. I don't need your lies." Then she too fled.

If Draco could have, he'd have turned to smirk then at Boor. He hadn't damaged himself further. If anything, it sounded as though Weasley was about to repair the breach between her and Alana. Trust a Weasley to foil any plot. And better still, he had a weapon now. He thought he knew how he could fight.

With everyone who might possibly defend him gone from the table, even Boor seemed to realize that Draco couldn't remain with the Gryffindors. Beneath their pointed glares, he stood and followed the girls. Draco thought he ought to hang his head, but Boor kept him looking forward, walking swiftly. _Unashamed_, Draco realized. _He wants them all to think I _wanted_ to hurt her._

Boor joined him in the entrance hall not long afterward; the girls were no where in sight. He smirked, then twitched his wand, and Draco followed him serenely down the stairs into the dungeons. They walked the familiar path to the sliding wall, through the common room, and down the hallway toward the boys' dorms. Draco was surprised when they passed the sixth year boys' room. He had thought Boor might be taking him to his own dorm. His friends surely must know what Boor was, whom he worked for?

"We're going to your room," Boor told him then.

His room? Why?

"No one really will bother with you being there, I don't expect. Do you have things you ought to be doing?" Boor asked, looking at him over his shoulder. "Oh," he said then. "I forgot." He smirked, "_You_ can't tell me."

_No, you git, I can't._

Boor pushed open the door to Draco's room. "Out," he said.

"It's my dorm," came Zabini's whine from inside the room.

"Malfoy and I need it. And you ought to go get breakfast, oughtn't you?"

There was a pause. "Why?" Zabini sounded suspicious.

"Because breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Boor recited sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"No. Why do you need the room?"

_Put it together, Zabini. Guess. Tell someone. Please._

Draco felt his jaw wrenched open again, "Do as he says, Zabini." Draco's feet took him a few inches forward so he could see around the jambs.

Zabini's eyes traveled from Draco to Boor and back. "You don't even like each other," he pointed out.

"Zabini," Draco said, his voice booming with threat. Threat? Zabini wasn't worth all that. "Out."

Zabini stood slowly from the bed. "How long do you need me gone?"

"Not long." Boor answered this time. "Give us... half an hour."

What did Boor want to do that would only take a half an hour? _Avada Kedavra_, Draco realized then with a flash of fear, only took a matter of seconds, particularly when Draco couldn't fight. Boor could kill him and do away with the body in a half an hour. But why go through all the trouble to keep him beneath the Imperius then? And why have him hurt Alana as his last act? Was this all some elaborate plot to fake a suicide? Draco would have to be in his own room for that too...

Zabini crept toward the door, holding a book pressed against his chest. "I'm not going far," he said as he paused before the two of them. He was taller than Draco, his nose on level with Boor's square jaw.

"You don't have to," Boor told him.

So whatever Boor was plotting was something relatively quiet...

"Now out," Boor added, and Zabini hurried past the two of them and down the torchlit hallway. Boor let Draco watch him. Zabini looked over his shoulder at Draco as he fled and his gaze was piercing. When Zabini had gone around a corner, Boor pushed Draco over the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him. He raised his wand and Draco wanted to flinch, to shut his eyes, expecting the two words and the flash of emerald light. Instead he heard, "_Muffliato_," a spell that seemed to Draco as useless as Snape's had earlier.

Boor muttered, "Now that nosy git can't overhear us even if he's outside the door." His eyes darted toward it, before returning to Draco. He seemed nervous... or excited. He licked his lips.

With a flick of Boor's wand, Draco sat on Zabini's bed. Boor was ignoring him otherwise, beginning to roll back the sleeve of his left arm. He had almost revealed the ghastly tongue of his brand when he stopped, and looked up to meet Draco's blank stare. "Wait. Do you- Oh." He walked over, grabbed Draco's arm, and began to tear back his sleeve instead. "He'll respond to your call even quicker, I think," Boor said. "And he'll know I've got you- like he asked. And then I don't have to..."

Draco was glad Boor didn't make him look down at the ugly red tattoo. He watched Boor as he raised his wand, his eyes on the Mark.

Draco let out a howl of pain and his hand leapt to the Mark- leapt there of his own accord. His head was throbbing with the fire that consumed his arm, but it was outside of Boor's control- and Boor realized it, Draco knew, when he let out a sharp oath. The warmth of the spell descended upon him again and numbed the pain, numbed everything. Draco's vision became bleary again. But for a moment, if only for a moment-

"That hurt though, didn't it?" Boor sneered, his wand steady now, needlessly trained on Draco. "It was worth losing you for a moment if it hurt. Particularly when-"

"Ah," came a soft hiss from Draco's left. "Draco. And Boor too."

The corners of Boor's mouth bent, but he bent himself in a low bow to cover the expression. "My lord."

While Boor was still doubled over, the Dark Lord swept toward Draco. His red eyes fastened on Draco's, held his stare a moment before he smiled. "Stand up, Boor."

Boor quickly obeyed.

"You've done well," the Dark Lord said, still watching Draco.

"Thank you, my lord."

Boor hovered behind the Dark Lord. He looked, Draco thought, like a dog waiting for scraps. Draco tried to keep his attention focused on Boor and not the man staring at him. He didn't want to look at him. And Boor didn't seem to be forcing him, however much the Dark Lord's gaze compelled Draco to look back. Draco, even under the Imperius Curse, felt nervous beneath his stare.

It was several minutes before Boor plucked up the courage to interrupt. "My lord?"

"Boor?" he answered without turning.

"Aren't- aren't we going to do something to him?"

The Dark Lord smiled and raised a finger to graze Draco's face. The Imperius kept it from being near as cold, near as hair-raising as it usually was. Draco still wanted to shudder though, out of habit. "No," the Dark Lord hissed. He was very near Draco now, so that all Draco could see were his eyes, like two swirling pools of fire. "No. It is enough of a torture for him to be controlled." At that word the finger crooked and the nail scraped along Draco's flesh so that he wanted to wince. With another twitch of his smile, the Dark Lord pulled away and turned to Boor. "Keep him under the Curse, Boor."

"Yes, my lord."

"For now, control his every movement."

"My lord, can I- can I mess with him some?"

The Dark Lord frowned. "You are sadistic."

"But- but, my lord," Boor tried, hunched in a cower, "wouldn't- wouldn't it be more torturous to him if-"

"A little, Boor. You can mess with him a very little."

"He has a friend."

"A friend?" The Dark Lord turned back to Draco as though for confirmation.

"A girlfriend," Boor elaborated. "From Gryffindor."

The Dark Lord's eyes burned, and his mouth bent in a horrible smile. _"What prevents you, my Draco?" _Draco would have winced again as the words tumbled from Boor's mouth, but they were worse when the Dark Lord repeated them. "From Gryffindor? Well, that's interesting. Is she close to Harry Potter?"

"I-" Boor fumbled, "I don't know. She's friends with the Weasley girl, so-"

"Interesting," the Dark Lord repeated, still watching Draco.

"Shall I- shall I do something about her, my lord?"

"For now, no."

"They- they fought this morning," Boor admitted, his gaze on the floor.

The Dark Lord frowned, looking at him again. "If she makes a move toward reconciliation, make sure it goes well, Boor. I may need her later."

"Of course, my lord."

"For now, that will do." The Dark Lord gathered up his black robe in a white, bony fist.

"My lord," Boor called, to stop him. "What- what about later? You keep saying 'for-"

"Later," the Dark Lord said, "will come later. This might be a dangerous game, so we proceed cautiously."

He turned then without a sound.

Boor groaned and threw his hands over his face as he sank down onto Draco's bed. Draco merely stared forward blankly, but his thoughts were frantic. How could he warn Alana?

Boor left him not long afterward, having torn through Draco's belongings in search of something to keep him occupied. His eyes were moving across the pages of his Ancient Runes text now, but his brain didn't comprehend any of the letters in any language.

He looked up when the he heard the door open. Zabini stood between the jambs, looking dark and sullen, book in hand. "Can I come in now?" he asked.

Draco felt himself nod.

Zabini walked into the room, stood on the other side of his bed. "Can I ask what that was all about?"

A definite "No" answered him and for once Draco agreed with Boor.

Zabini watched him a moment, then nodded. He went and retrieved _A History of Magic_ from his trunk and sat down with it. Draco turned a page in his book and looked down at more of the meaningless scrawl. He didn't look up from it till- it could have been five minutes or an hour later- Zabini asked, "Are you all right?"

Draco's head turned toward him. "Why? Do I not look it?"

Zabini shrugged and buried his long nose again in the pages of his text.

Boor seemed to think there was no threat because Draco too returned to his book.

Zabini followed when Boor sent Draco to dinner and sat down beside him at the far end of the Slytherin table. As they had entered the room, Boor had sent Draco's eyes along the Gryffindor table. Alana was eating only a little with her head bent low to hide her eyes, but Kari was on one side and Ginerva Weasley on the other. Kari had scanned him sharply as he had walked in.

"You've hardly said a word all day," Zabini pointed out when Draco had spent fifteen minutes spooning little bites of tasteless food into his mouth.

Draco's shoulders rose in a shrug.

"What did you and the girl fight about this morning?"

When Draco didn't answer, Zabini asked even more quietly, "What did you do last night?"

"Nothing so foul as you guess," Draco said sourly. "I wouldn't dare with that piece of filth."

"That's not what you would have said last night, when you were telling me she wasn't like the others, when you-"

"Shut up."

"It just seems like a really sudden change."

Zabini let him eat a little longer in silence.

"Her friend is looking at you now."

Draco wondered which friend Zabini meant, but Boor didn't make him look up. He kept his gaze on the shepherd's pie he forked into his mouth.

Zabini punched his arm- hard. "Don't you want to-"

It was exactly what Draco needed. "A knife," he hissed, once more briefly in control of himself. He wanted to spit it out, before-

"What?" Zabini jerked away, horrified.

"Quick, Zabini. Wrap up a knife and stick it in my pocket. A sharp one."

"What are you-"

"Don't ask questions. Just-" The warmth settled back on him again.

Zabini was staring at him, his eyes sharp with suspicion. Draco went back to eating in silence, his face blank.

"I don't understand."

Draco didn't answer. He had been outside Boor's control. Boor couldn't have heard what had passed between the two of them. He had no response. Which meant he couldn't stop it either. _Come on, Zabini._

He felt something knock against his leg.

"You might be mad," Zabini said. "And I'm probably a fool for listening to you. Don't do anything stupid, Malfoy."

_A/N: I really have no notes on this chapter. I will talk to you more when I post chapter 11._

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	11. Underground Again

Zabini did not let him leave dinner alone. When he had stood, Zabini stood too. He walked beside him, watching him with concern-- like a box of Filibuster's wet-start fireworks that had accidentally gotten damp, liable to go off at any moment. Draco was glad of the company. Boor would have to be further behind them. He could do little with Zabini there. Overtly, at least.

"One moment, Mr. Malfoy."

Zabini stopped, looked around, and threw out a hand to stop Draco. Boor, caving to the unavoidable perhaps, had Draco turn around.

The headmaster was striding toward him. Draco's eyes were forced quickly down.

"Good evening, Mr. Zabini."

"Er... hello, sir."

"I hope I won't interrupt anything too terribly interesting if I take Mr. Malfoy?"

"We weren't talking. We were just--"

_Tell him, Zabini. Tell him everything._

But Draco heard instead, "I'll see you in the dorm, Malfoy."

"See you," Draco said to the floor.

He heard Zabini's footsteps retreating before Dumbledore prompted, "Did you forget our meeting this morning?"

"Oh." Boor had not counted on that, hadn't known probably. "Yes, I--"

He thought he heard Dumbledore chuckle. "I suppose you did have an eventful night. So let us talk now."

"Oh but--"

"I won't make it long," Dumbledore assured him. "How are you, Draco?"

_Terrible. Professor, break the curse. Break it. I can't-- _"What?"

"How are you? You looked quite shaken after your duel." Draco heard a frown in his tone.

Boor forced the lie, "I'm fine," from him.

"And Miss O'Toule?" Dumbledore asked more brightly.

"I don't know. We haven't talked."

The frown returned quickly. "I doubt she means you any harm," he said seriously.

Draco felt his shoulders rise in a shrug. _No, and I don't mean it either, but I will harm her. I'll hurt her and never mean to._

"You can't keep everyone out forever, Draco."

"I don't need her."

There was a very pregnant pause. "Take it from an old man, Draco, a life alone is hardly a life at--"

"I don't need your advice either," was Draco's savage retort.

"Draco--"

"I'm going to bed," Draco told him, beginning to march off.

"A moment yet, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco spun around. "What?"

"Look at me."

_Thank you._ Boor did not immediately respond by raising Draco's head, doubtless fishing for any way around it. Dumbledore had seen war. He had known times even worse maybe than they were now. He would recognize the Imperius Curse instantly. He had to.

"You don't want to," Dumbledore guessed, speaking quietly again.

"No, I don't."

"What are you putting yourself through, Draco? For what purpose?" He could hear footsteps. Dumbledore was coming toward him. If he would just lift Draco's head so he could see in his eyes-- He was staring down at the purple toes of the headmaster's boots, the hem of his robe. He was right in front of him. Why was he not acting? Why was he saying nothing? Somewhere, from a very great distance, he thought he heard the tick of a clock. Probably the grand clock that fronted the castle. Still Boor would not allow Draco to raise his eyes to the headmaster.

"I thought," Dumbledore said suddenly, sullenly, "you came here seeking my help, Draco. I can only help you, if you're willing to accept it."

_No. I--_ But Draco heard saw the headmaster turn away from him, listened to his retreating footsteps. What-- what did that mean? Had Dumbledore given up on him? Was he to be turned out now? Where was Dumbledore going? Did he have direct contact with Azkaban? Was _this_ the Dark Lord's plan, to have him turned out of Hogwarts and leave him no alternative but to return to him, to capitulate and save his life by doing whatever was demanded of him, in silence? Draco wanted to shiver as he remembered a finger being drawn across his face, dangerous as a razor, cold as ice, and all too possessive....

"That went well."

Boor came up beside him. "I was worried there for a bit," he confessed. "The doddering old fool. The Dark Lord's right about him-- right about everything. Come on," he added to Draco.

Boor began to walk forward, and Draco followed. But he remembered that finger pressing at his chin, raising his eyes so he looked into the Dark Lord's, their two breaths clouding in the night air that left his lungs frosted and stinging, and something shifting inside of him as he stared, let himself drown in the red fire.

He planted his feet as they reached the door to the dungeons. Boor, several steps below him already, turned back with a raised wand and a growl. Draco tripped forward. But his every ounce of will now was applied to fighting, to breaking the curse, now, before it was too late. And soon it would be, Draco thought as he followed Boor down the torchlit stone steps. If Dumbledore had gone for the Aurors--

Draco pushed himself beyond the thought of Azkaban and onto what the Dark Lord would do to him if he went back defeated. He dreamt up every horrible, twisted human face he could as they emerged briefly into a wider corridor, then turned down a second flight of steps. He imagined the screaming, the pleas he would have to deafen to be able to complete the tasks the Dark Lord assigned him as they paced a narrower, darker hallway. He thought of the lives he would destroy to uphold his own. The power built inside of him as he let himself slide toward the Dark Lord's persuasion, as he let himself consider the Dark Lord's offer. The Dark Lord had awoken that power in him first; it seemed the only way to reach it. "_You could have been great, you know. You were destined for greatness, to rule by my side. You could have had power beyond anyone's wildest imaginings.... You feel it? It could have been yours, Draco. It could all have been yours."_ Now Draco tried to turn it against him.

The dragon seemed to be awakening within him. Its scales rubbed against his insides. Its claws dug into the lining of his stomach. It snaked through him, crawled higher, scratching his lungs now. His breath came in quick, short gasps and his hands fisted. His hands moved-- moved without being told.

"Malfoy!"

"No," Draco said, feeling the fire scorching his veins. They were deep in the dungeons now. A torch guttered somewhere just above his head, fighting to keep burning.

"But the Curse. It's-- it's still-- I didn't take it off."

"The Imperius can be fought," Draco managed to say. He slipped a hand into his pocket. He closed it on the handle of the knife Zabini had left there for him. He drew it out and the cloth napkin fell away.

Boor looked wildly over his shoulder. They were alone, Draco knew, from the horror on his face. Boor raised his wand, but it shook in his hand. "Malfoy," he called, "be-- be reasonable. Don't-- don't--"

Draco raised the knife. Pain broke the Curse, threw it completely from him. If he did it right, he'd only have to do it once. He forced his hand down.

The knife tip sunk into his skin and he let out a howl, nearly dropping the weapon. But as he staggered backward, feeling the pain that laced his arm now as he pressed his hand atop the wound to staunch the blood, he knew the Curse was gone. And so was his connection with that secret power. He was just Draco Malfoy, as he always had been.

He didn't look at Boor. He ran-- ran blindly, dripping blood onto the flagstones.

"Malfoy!"

He darted down a dark hallway, not knowing or caring where it led. He took another quick turn. He could hear Boor's footsteps behind him as he turned again.

"Come-- come back," Boor called. "He'll kill me, Malfoy."

Draco kept running, his eyes swinging left and right. He needed somewhere to hide. Anywhere to hide. Somewhere Boor wouldn't find him. Maybe somewhere where Dumbledore couldn't find him either. Boor's footsteps were falling back, his shouts becoming more distant. Draco took another quick turn and flung himself into a dark recess behind a stone statue. He sank to the statue's pedestal, crouched and quiet, holding his breath, fighting to steady and muffle his pants, and listened.

"Malfoy! Malfoy!" Boor was coming nearer, catching up. His footsteps were slowing. "Where the hell--"

Draco peeked around the statue's legs. The corridor was so dark that Boor was little more than a hulking shadow passing him by.

He waited-- and waited. Not daring to let himself move, not daring to gasp in the air he wanted until he was sure he could no longer hear any footsteps, until several minutes had passed since he'd heard the last.

He let out a great blustering breath and sucked in another. He looked down at his arm. The cut was no wider than the knife's blade, nothing too serious, he didn't think, but it was deep and it still throbbed with pain, still oozed. His right palm and left wrist were stained with blood, a rusty red. He felt nearly sick and had to look away from it, letting his hands drop to his sides, slipping the bloodied knife back in his pocket.

He had to think. And he had to think fast. How long had it been since he'd parted company with Dumbledore in the entrance hall? Would the Aurors have had time to get to Hogwarts yet? Where would they wait for him? Would they be brought to the Slytherin dorms? What route would they take? Would they bring dementors? That was one small thing: Draco doubted very much that Dumbledore would allow dementors in his school. If he had to fight his way out, he'd be facing only wizards. But fight to go where?

He allowed himself a small moan as his head sunk to his bent knees. Azkaban or the Dark Lord? He liked neither option. What if-- If he went to Dumbledore and begged his forgiveness, could the headmaster possibly-- But he remembered the last time he had tried to surrender to Dumbledore. _"Take your wand, Draco, and stand up."_ He hadn't wanted Draco's capitulation. What _did _he want?

As Draco sat pondering, the warmth began to steal back into his body, the warmth and the numbness. The Curse fogged his brain, dampened and slowed the wheels. _No!_ Draco thought, trying to push his self up through the haze of Boor's Imperius, which as he had rightly said, had never been lifted.

Would he have to fight forever till Boor took it off or one of them died? With trembling fingers, Draco reached again for the knife's handle. Unable to look at the mess of his arm, his own hands without feeling queasy, he ran the blade across his wrist. It sliced easily through the skin and the added sting lifted the mist of the Curse. Would he have to keep cutting to fight? He didn't think he could will back the power he'd briefly found. He _knew_ he couldn't long stand contact with it....

_Pain_, he thought. _I need constant pain. But... where? How?_

One thing he knew: He wouldn't find his remedy curled at the feet of a lifeless statue. He looked quickly down the corridor and pressed himself out of the statue's niche. He'd go back the way he had come. Boor would be looking for him somewhere in the opposite direction.

As he passed the closed door of Snape's office, he briefly wondered whether the Potions master might lend him some illicit mixture to cause his insides to burn-- or something similar. But he knew he couldn't go to the professor. Snape couldn't be expected to hide him from either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord.

The entrance hall was dark when Draco emerged from the dungeons. A single torch remained burning beside the marble staircase. Alana, he thought, was somewhere up those stairs, no doubt thinking him a bastard and any number of other terrible things. He wished he could see her again. Once. To thank her. To apologize.

Dumbledore-- if he had not led the Aurors to the Slytherin dorms to apprehend him-- was also somewhere upstairs. Draco, then, could not climb the stairs again. That left him few options. He could return to the dungeons, hide in the Great Hall or the room beyond, in a broom closet, down the corridor where they had History of Magic classes, or down the corridor that housed the kitchens.

As he stood looking from one option to another, each in their own way flawed, he realized that the hall was not as silent as it ought to have been. From all around him, echoing down from the lofty, unseen ceiling, came a soft hiss and clatter. _Rain_, Draco thought. _Heavy rain._

That gave him an idea. He crossed the entrance hall and tugged at the great oaken front door. It came open slowly and silently, though the rattle of rain and the moan of wind were both louder outdoors. Draco stuck his head out into the cool night. Heavy, cold drops pelted his unprotected face and pate, each with the force of a doxy bite. _Yes_, he thought heavily_, the weather would protect him nicely._

He slipped outside, without a clock, without a shield, and shut the door quietly behind himself. Letting the rain bludgeon him, he slunk down the wide stairs of the front entryway, and settled himself down beside them, huddling against the castle wall. It was no shield from the rain and no shield from the wind, but it gave him some comfort. He didn't want to leave the castle, not after all it had taken to return to it. Besides, his feet had slipped a little on the even, worn stone; he didn't like to imagine the climb down the uneven steps or the grass tufts. For now, this would have to do. If the Aurors came up the slope of the lawn, or if they came out the door, he would fight them off. Until then, he trusted the dark night and inclement weather to hide him. No one would be coming out of the castle and Hagrid wouldn't leave his hut if he didn't have to.

Before long, his clothes had soaked through so that they hung heavily from his body. His blonde hair lay plastered to his head. The wind that howled in the trees of the Forbidden Forest and in the crannies of the castle, cut through his sodden clothes and skin. Though he wrapped his arms tightly about himself, he still shivered.

But his mind was clear.

---

"Draco?"

He didn't know how many hours had passed. He'd since lost the energy to shiver, had resigned himself to leaning heavily against the solid framework of the stairs. A light flared in the darkness, alighted on him. It was almost warm-- warm because he thought he knew that voice-- and half-hoped he wasn't dreaming.

"Draco!"

A clatter of footsteps, the slosh of mud, and then Alana was kneeling in front of him. He tried to smile at her, but he was so tired....

"What are you doing here, you idiot?"

"Alana," he mumbled. His eyelids felt heavy. He let them sink down again.

"I'm right here." Though her tone was controlled and commanding, her hand closed briefly, comfortingly on his wrist. "You're freezing!" she cried, letting go of him. "How long have you been here?"

"Dunno," he managed.

"Well, I'm getting you inside and to a fire. Now." Something warm and dry fell about his shoulders. His stiff, numb fingers felt wool and he opened his eyes to discover that she had shed her cloak and wrapped it about him instead. "Come on," she said. "Up now."

With her hands on his arms, he managed to get to his feet and, leaning on her, he got to the base of the steps once more and she began to drag him up them. Her hair, wet now and strung with diamond-raindrops in the light of her wand, was against the skin of his face, cool and smelling faintly of-- of-- he couldn't identify the flower now, only knew that he liked it, that it reminded him of wide paths through well-lit woods. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

"Not now," she said brusquely, though her fingers tightened on his arms and he thought her shoulders tensed.

"But--"

"Shh."

She yanked open the door and together they fell into the entrance hall. The rainwater began to drip from their clothes to form a puddle on the flagstones. Draco continued to lean against her.

"Where?" Alana muttered, looking left and right. Ought Draco to mention he might be a wanted man? "The kitchens," she answered herself. "Draco--"

"There," Draco said, pointing her toward a door to their right.

"Can you make it?" she wondered, her dark eyes running over his face, anxiety tainting her tone. Maybe he looked worse in the added light of the lone torch.

Draco wondered too whether or not he could make it. The kitchens seemed terribly far. But he looked at her, at her eyes. He remembered them in the starlight, with the stars chasing themselves across their glass. "Help me."

She nodded, and led him toward the door.

"The pear?" she asked when they were in front of the painting. Draco's legs felt like lead beneath him and he was afraid he leaned too heavily against her, but he nodded and she reached up to tickle the fruit. Its giggle seemed loud in the dimly lit hallway, in the head that seemed too heavy for Draco's neck, too dark-- almost waterlogged. The door swung open, and they staggered through into the dark kitchens.

"They-- they do sleep in here, don't they?" Alana asked, her eyes sweeping over the hanging pots and pans, the scrubbed, bare tables, the cold grate. Draco had never seen the kitchens without a swarm of house-elves moving like ants across the floor.

"I think so-- if they aren't all cleaning."

Alana frowned but seemed to know better than to begin a rant on elf rights now. Instead she called out into the echoing kitchen, "Hello? Is anyone here? Dobby?"

At first it seemed that the kitchen was perhaps truly empty. Then a shrill voice echoed Alana's cry from a shadowy corner "Dobby?" it hissed.

"Huh?"

"Dobby must get up. Dobby has guests." There was a pause, then the same voice asked, "Is Dobby knowing them?"

An elf's snapped fingers set ablaze the new logs in the brick fireplace and Alana and Draco blinked in the sudden light.

"Master Draco! And Miss Alana too!"

The shadow of a house-elf moved in front of the fire. The outline of soccer shorts and a fuzzy sweater identified it as Dobby. "But-- but--" He shuffled forward. "They is all wet. And Master Draco-- Master Draco, is you ill?"

"I dunno, Dobby."

Alana was already tugging him forward toward the fire. She was about to push him onto Winky's little stool, but Dobby shook his head, and took Draco's other wrist. "No, miss," he squeaked. "Not here. Follow Dobby. We is going to the back room."

Dobby led them again through the fissure into the secret room. Another snap of his fingers lit a second fire in this grate and a third sent one of the armchairs scraping over the carpet to get nearer the hearth. Dobby had all but taken over from Alana now. It was his tiny hands that pushed Draco into the chair, before he turned on Alana, who was still clinging to Draco's arm. "Miss must go now," Dobby said firmly. "Master Draco must get out of his wet clothes."

"What? Dobby--"

Draco had not been subject to the elf's glare since he had turned ten, but he still knew at once not to argue. He gave Alana a look he hoped apologized for the elf's sudden nannying. Dobby's hands flapped at her to chivvy her out, and the elf followed. "Dobby will come back," he said over his shoulder to Draco, "with dry clothes for Master Draco."

Draco half-suspected that Dobby would return not only with a set of clothes, but a bushel of oranges as well that he would expect Draco to eat as a precautionary measure. He pulled a face at the thought, but once the two of them were out of sight, did as the elf had asked. His clothes were so wet that taking them off was like peeling off a second layer of skin. Wrapping himself tightly in Alana's still mostly dry cloak, he fell back into the chair, almost willing to eat Dobby's oranges. Even that small act had drained him of what had remained of his energy, though he admitted he had had very little to begin with.

He started at a noise and looked toward the entryway without straightening up. Dobby, rather than bringing oranges, was lost behind a stack of blankets. He handed Draco his clothes and turned around so Draco could pull them wearily on.

"Dobby?" he asked of the back of the elf's head, his bat-like ears.

"What is it, Master Draco?"

"You didn't chase Alana off did you?"

He could hear the elf's frown in his voice. "Alana, miss is refusing to leave, sir. She is outside."

Draco smiled and explained, when his head had emerged from the pullover, the neckline of which his hair had dampened, "I need to talk to her, Dobby."

"Master Draco should be resting."

Draco adopted a more commanding tone. "No, Dobby. Not till I've talked to her. Alone, I think," he added, pulling on the fleecy pajama bottoms Dobby had brought him.

"But Master Draco--" the elf cried, turning around.

Draco dragged himself to the couch and sunk into its cushions. Tugging one of the fleece blankets from the floor to throw over himself, he reminded, "The sooner you go get her, the sooner I can talk to her, and the sooner I can sleep."

Dobby's large eyes were round as he sought a way around the command, but failing to see any, he snapped his fingers to levitate the sopping pile of discarded clothes, and slunk off toward the door with them floating in front, leaving a trail of heavy splashes behind. Draco tucked the edges of the blanket in around himself and reached for another.

Dobby had hardly disappeared before Alana was inside the room and coming toward him. Dobby did not return with her. "I'm all right, Gryff," Draco assured her as she slowed near the couch.

"I wasn't wor--"

"You still _are_ worried," he smiled. "Sit down."

She moved slowly toward the couch. He was sitting sideways, his legs drawn up underneath him. She just missed perching on his toes. He reached out to drape the second blanket around her.

"Dobby might ignore it, but you got wet too," he reminded.

"Not nearly as much as you." Nevertheless, she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She had probably been near the fire, Draco decided. Her damp hair was beginning to curl and the ends were lighter than the thicker hair above. He wanted to reach out and brush that hair from her shoulders, but denied himself. After all he said to her, the pain he had caused, he did not know whether she would allow it, whether she would rebuff him.

"Draco--" Words seemed to fail her as she looked into his face, still cool he knew, despite the warm, dry clothes, the fleece blanket, and the roaring fire. He wondered if it showed.

While Draco wanted to reach out to touch her hand, to let her know he was there, to remind himself she was there, he settled for holding up a hand to stop her question. "Listen first?" He didn't want it to be a command-- she owed him not even the most cursory attention now.

She nodded and he smiled.

"I'm sorry," he tried again, and this time she didn't stop the apology. "You've been through hell today. I dragged you with me. I warned you I wasn't the safest company to keep after we--"

"Last night," she supplied, nodding.

"_Do you really want someone who-- me?"_ he had asked."_I'm just afraid I'll hurt you."_ Draco looked at his hands, remembered looking at them that morning beside the Slytherin fireplace.

"You said you were afraid you'd hurt me, but you never said you would." Her voice sounded strained now and Draco couldn't bring himself to look up. He was afraid her expression would reflect her strangled heart-- and it would be his fault. "How could you-- What you said to me--"

"I didn't, Alana," he quietly told his hands. "Or not really."

"How can you deny--"

"Boor attacked me."

"Draco, I know, I was--"

"Not last night. This morning."

"What?"

"On his way back from the hospital wing. We met in the hallway. I was stupid; I looked away. He was right; it was a lucky shot when I struck him last night. He got me back this morning."

"I don't--"

"He cast the Imperius on me, Alana."

"He what?" she breathed. "Draco-- that's-- that's illegal. There's a life penalty-- He wouldn't dare--"

"He would dare, Gryff-- he did-- because the Dark Lord asked him to."

"What?"

"The Dark Lord's after my head, you know that." He hesitated. "I saw him today, Alana--"

"You-Know-Who?"

Draco nodded.

"Here?"

Another nod.

"Inside the castle?"

"I think Boor used the Dark Mark to summon him."

"The-- the symbol they cast over a house where they've--"

"No. The--" But Draco snapped his jaws shut. Alana didn't know about the tattoo and she didn't need to-- he didn't want her to. The loud ticks of his watch finished his sentence.

"So what," Alana said to break the taut silence that had fallen between them, "does that mean?"

Draco needed her to understand so looked up to meet her stare. "That anything I said to you this morning, I didn't mean-- that it wasn't me saying any of it. It was Boor putting words into my mouth-- literally." When Alana looked away from him, down at her hands, white lilies or a lotus in her lap, he added, "I know it seems hard to believe--"

"Almost impossible," she corrected him quietly, speaking to her hands.

"Gryff--"

She looked up at him again, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Kiss me," she said.

"What?"

"Don't ask questions, Draco, just-- please."

He hesitated a moment. It seemed a preposterous suggestion under the circumstances and, given her last remark, he worried she might make this their farewell, but he didn't dare disobey her, thought he owed her anything she might ask of him now. He raised his gaze again to her teary eyes, remembered them dark with passion and glittering with moon- and starlight, and leaned forward. He shut his own eyes and took a deep, steadying breath before parting his lips. They met Alana's gently. Hers were warm, his still cold. Even when he hesitated, when he thought it would be best now if he kept himself distant, he thought he sensed the fire of their first kiss, like a newborn phoenix stretching its neck out of its deathbed of ashes. One of his hands crept up to touch her cheek, as if to stroke the bird's un-feathered head. It brushed a hot tear aside in cupping her face and she made a soft noise beneath his lips. One of her hands found his shoulder, hot as a brand, clasped it for a moment, then pushed, breaking the flaming chain that was beginning to glow between them.

The fire faded slowly from Draco, leaving him cold and shivering again as he looked at Alana and Alana refused to meet his gaze.

His voice might have been supported by icicles, fragile and shivering, as it bridged the distance she had forced between them. The room seemed so much darker now in the wake of their stolen moment. "I never meant to hurt you," he said again. "It was the last thing I wanted."

A log in the fire popped and sent a shower of sparks up the flue. "I know," she said to her hands.

"You-- you d--"

"Yes, Draco," she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were still gleaming, but there was a fire behind the sheen that was drying her tears. She ran a hand across her face to wipe away the ones that already glistened on her cheeks.

"Last night," Draco said, feeling the need to explain himself further, "when we--"

"Kissed?"

Draco nodded. "I didn't run because I didn't like it."

Alana smiled. "You did seem to be enjoying it until...."

His actions, not recounted, but well-remembered, hung between them, forcing them apart again. "You don't need the Imperius," Draco explained, shaking his head, and looking at his cold hands in his lap, the orange light of the fire upon them. "All you have to do, it feels, is look at me. You make me feel things-- it's enough that you make me feel-- but I lose control of myself when I'm with you, do things I never would-- It feels like I'd do anything you asked." Taking a steadying breath, he looked up to meet her softening eyes, and said more evenly, "I don't like being controlled, but I can't help letting you."

Alana's reached out and her fingers wove their way between his. He wondered if his hand would melt upon hers. "I wouldn't hurt you either, for what that's worth."

"It's worth a little."

She smiled, her eyes darkening again. Her smile caused him to smile too. Exposure maybe was making him lightheaded. He bent forward.

"Is Dobby allowed in now?"

Draco and Alana jumped away from one another, though, Draco noticed, Alana's hand remained entwined tightly about his.

"Dobby-- I-- we--" Draco corrected, looking to Alana.

"Sure," she answered for him. "I'm sorry we--"

"We just needed a few minutes to--"

"Alana, miss and Master Draco _does_ like each other," Dobby announced. "Dobby _knows_ it now."

"Er, well, yes," Draco fumbled, "I suppose we--"

"You isn't needing to hide it from me, Master Draco. You isn't able to," he said, trying to suppress a cheeky grin.

"Imp. How much did you hear?" Draco demanded, his expression hardening. "Or see?" he added, half-horrified by the thought.

"Dobby is turning around when Master Draco and Alana is kissing."

Alana groaned. "First Kari and the horrid Slytherin, now Dobby. Are you _always_ watched?" she asked Draco.

"Apparently." But Draco was having to bite down a grin too.

"But Dobby is come to remind them: Master Draco should be resting. If he doesn't, he is getting ill. What was Master Draco doing out in the rain?" he wanted to know.

"I-- er--"

"That's actually a very good question," Alana put in, looking toward him too.

"Well--" His gaze traveled between Dobby's large eyes and Alana's dark ones. Neither was easy to look at, so he looked instead at the blanket that was draped over his lower half. "Pain breaks the Imperius Curse and I-- couldn't fight it-- not really. Maybe I really am weak-willed like they say."

Alana made a noise like "Tch."

Draco continued, "The rain kept my mind clear."

"Master Draco is needing to fight the Imperius?" Dobby asked.

"It's gone now, Dobby," Draco assured him, looking up and trying to force a smile. "Boor had me under all today."

Dobby frowned.

"I thought you might be hiding," Alana admitted.

Draco bit his lip. How much did he dare tell her? "That too."

"Boor actually found me. He and that friend of yours, um, Zabeen or--"

"Zabini?"

"That sounds right."

"He was with Boor?"

Alana nodded. "But he didn't look too happy to be."

"What," Draco asked, not knowing if he really wanted to know the answer, "did they do to you?"

"Boor caught me by the front, demanded to know where you were. When I told him I didn't know, he--"

"What?"

"It didn't get beyond threats," Alana said, shaking her head. "I broke free. I was scared, Draco. I ran from them. I wanted to get as far away from them as possible. That's why I went outside. And that's when it occurred to me that maybe you knew Boor and Zabini were looking and had hidden. And since no one had found you inside the castle...."

"I'm glad you did find me," Draco told her. "Though I hate to think I have Boor to thank for it."

Alana smiled briefly before dropping her eyes. Her fingers fiddled with the folds of fleece the hung from her shoulders as she whispered, "He really is horrid, Draco. Can't Dumbledore do something about him?"

"I don't know." Draco hesitated before admitting, "I'm not sure I want to send him to Azkaban even so."

Alana shivered, and Draco looked toward her with a frown and he felt again the need to reassure her, to reassure himself that she was there and safe. His hand slunk out to find hers. His fingers brushed hers.

"Miss Alana?" Dobby said. "Miss can stay here, if she likes, with Master Draco. Dobby-- Dobby will make sure no one comes in."

Alana gave him a smile, though it took a little bit of effort. "Thanks, Dobby."

"Master and miss should both be sleeping," Dobby put in, beginning now to back away. He raised his hand and the fire died down some, leaving the room in a sort of semidarkness. "Dobby will stand guard."

"Will we both fit on the couch?" Draco wondered. "I don't mind the floor," he put in gallantly.

Alana shook her head. The low light brought out the golden threads in her hair. "You take the couch, Draco. You-- you've had an even worse day than I have, I think. And Dobby's right, you do need the sleep. I'll just curl up by the fire."

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but she stood and crossed to him, laying her lips on his once more. "Sleep well," she said, dragging her blanket with her.

Draco lay down, his head atop one of the throw pillows. He watched her, a dark shape, stripping the chairs of their cushions and laying them down near the hearth. Laying down on her side, with the blanket over top of her, she was all dips and hillocks. Draco smiled to himself, pulled the blanket tighter around him, and shut his eyes.

---

"Clever. Very clever."

Draco started at the icy hiss that cut through the darkness of his still cold, still waterlogged mind. He looked around, but, though he knew where he must be, the room was still but a wash of colors, such as he might be seen through a screen of water. He could not make out the dark robed figure who had spoken to him from the shadows. "What the hell?"

"You escaped much sooner than I expected." Two pricks of red appeared, glowing from the darker, less bold colors. They were facing one another, Draco and the--

"You... wanted me to escape?"

White flesh formed the shape of a long face around the two eyes. The black of his robe seemed to fall away, more shadow or water than fabric yet. The lipless mouth curved upward, the eyes shone, amused. "I have told you, my Draco, I do not seek your death. I have never sought your death--"

"Except when I tried to leave Durmstrang," Draco contended. "You meant it then."

"Except then," the Dark Lord agreed. "I did not then think I could win you back. Now I've thought of a way."

"Oh hell," Draco groaned. He was still tired, still exhausted. His body felt too heavy for his legs. It was only with effort that he remained upright, unsupported in front of the the Dark Lord.

He raised a bald eyebrow ridge. "You think you'd be a little more grateful."

"When your way involves putting me under the Imperius? Under Boor's control? When you're glad I've nearly killed myself just trying to feel again?"

"You are being dramatic. And besides, I would not have let you die."

"Like you could have stopped me."

"I could have. But that's neither here nor there."

Draco let out a breath between his teeth and turned sharply away. Reminding the Dark Lord that, whatever else he was, he had yet to achieve god-status was not a good idea.

"You should know, I don't expect Boor to win."

Draco sighed heavily before deigning to ask, "What?"

"I don't expect Boor to win. I don't intend him to win."

"Win what?" Draco asked, turning wearily back around.

"This game of mine. I expect him to die of it."

Draco let out another sharp breath. "You know," he started angrily, "I'm exhausted. I've spent the day Imperiused, and the night dying of exposure--"

"I know you're exhausted. That's why I'm telling you this. I'm telling you the ending to this little intrigue. I'm telling you how to win the game."

"How?" Draco demanded, more to pull it from him, to force him to say his piece so that he would let him leave than because he was curious.

"You have to kill him."

"Merlin!" Draco spat. "I see now."

"I'm glad you do. Otherwise I'd have to think you dense."

"You're back on that again. 'Kill once and prove yourself.' I've told you no. How many times do I have to say it before you'll realize I mean it and leave me alone?"

The Dark Lord smiled slowly. "I can't leave you alone, my Draco. And inside I think you know that you can't leave me either."

"Merlin!" he said again.

"_Draco?"_

"Just kill him, Draco."

"Never!"

"That's all it'll take."

"I can't kill him!"

"You won't resist forever, Draco. You can't resist forever. That sort of power--"

"_Draco?" _a little louder.

"--can't be ignored. And once you do, that Muggle-loving fool-- Dumbledore-- will have no choice. He can't harbor a murderer. You'll have to either return to me, or you'll go to Azkaban."

"Now you want me in Azkaban?"

The Dark Lord smiled again, stretched out a long finger. "No, my Draco. Never."

"Draco!"

He yanked his eyes open onto Alana's wan face, bright firelight backlighting her.

"You were talking in your sleep," she said softly.

"Was I?" Draco mumbled. His eyes traveled past her around the room. Dobby had returned, was hovering near the fireplace, but he saw no signs of the Dark Lord or the room he had been in, dark and cold and stately furnished.

Alana nodded. "You don't look well," she added.

"Would you expect me to?"

"You look worse than I'd expect you to. Draco--" her eyes stared into his, nervous, compelling "--I think you should go to the hospital wing."

"I'm not going to the hospital wing."

"You're talking in your sleep. You could be coming down with something-- a cold, the flu, pneumonia."

Draco pushed himself upright. His hands, he realized then, were shaking, but other than that and his exhaustion, he noticed no symptoms. "I'm not going to the hospital wing."

Alana sat back on her ankles. "A bit of Pepper-Up Potion would probably do you a world of good."

"I don't need it."

"Just take some. Just one dose," she wheedled. "For me."

Draco hesitated. "I'm not going to the hospital wing," he said again. Madam Pomfery would ask too many questions when she saw him. "But I'll take the potion. For you."

"But how--"

"I'll get it," Dobby squeaked.

Draco turned to smile at the elf. "Thanks, Dobby."

Alana waited till Dobby had left the room. "Won't Madam Pomfery keep her stocks locked up? How will he get it?"

Draco smiled slightly. "Dobby can unlock anything," he assured her.

_A/N: I hope you're enjoying my story. Some of you, I know, have been reading it. Some have even been reading it all the way through in a single day. But I have not heard from any of you. Reviews, flames, whatever are appreciated. I can't know what you like or what you dislike unless you tell me. Thank you, friends! Until chapter 12._

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	12. Dumbledore's Weapon

Zabini's dark eyes left his book to watch as Draco entered the Charms classroom, stifling a yawn. Tiny Professor Flitwick watched him too from his seat atop a pile of thick-spined books at the front of the classroom, but Draco had made it on time-- if only barely. He had awoken later than usual, had prodded Alana awake. She had run to find a loo to fix her appearance, but returned with her hair in order and her face washed. In the meantime, the elves had provided them such a luxurious breakfast that she had not been able to refuse his request to stay to share it. Her kisses had tasted of strawberry jam and butter, and he wondered if he too now smelled of woodsmoke. Whatever qualms she had about his health, she did not seem to mind risking his being contagious. Even now, as Flitwick fretted over what might come up on their O.W.L. examinations and threw the odd question to a classmate, Draco had to smile to remember her, with her hair spread across her face, and a smile in her sleep, just before he'd bent over her to--

"Mr. Malfoy--"

Draco jumped.

"--you remember the Banishing Charm?" Flitwick levitated an eraser from the chalkboard onto Draco's desk.

"Banishing Charm. Right." Draco took his wand from his pocket and waved it a little too forcefully, trying to compensate for his fatigue, which caused the eraser to shoot like an arrow toward the professor's head. Flitwick squeaked and fell off his chair, trying to avoid the projectile, which crashed into the wall in a cloud of chalk dust. Draco grimaced as several members of the class sniggered, whether at him or Flitwick, who had now stood and was flattening his rumpled robes, he couldn't know.

"Practice, Mr. Malfoy. Who knows what he did wrong?"

As Daphne Greengrass explained and was asked to demonstrate herself, Zabini's voice drifted toward Draco, though the African boy seemed to be keenly watching Greengrass' eraser rising in the air. "Are you all right?"

Draco glanced toward him. "Do I not look it?"

"Where were you last night?"

"I don't see why I should tell you," Draco snarled. "How's Boor?"

Zabini flinched, but fell silent. After a moment, his eyes fell to his hands, folded in his lap. They did not rise again until he was called on by Flitwick.

---

"I didn't want to help him," Zabini hissed as he followed Draco out the door into the bustling corridor an hour and a half later. "He-- _insisted_. And it's not like we found you anyway, so why should it--"

"You found Alana," Draco snapped, slipping into the stream of traffic that was headed downstairs.

"You two made up then?"

"Don't dodge the conversation, Zabini."

Zabini ducked his head. "I tried to get him to leave her alone. I told him I didn't think she knew where you were, that she would be with you if she did. I stopped him chasing her."

"Small recompense."

"Malfoy-- you know what Boor's like--"

Draco whirled to face him. Several second years darted around them, looking nervous. "I know what he's like," Draco snarled, looking up into Zabini's wide, dark eyes, "probably better than you do, Zabini. And I'd still have fought him if--"

"Look, Malfoy, just because I favor my limbs more highly--"

Draco gave a roar of frustration and stormed away. "You could try thinking of someone besides yoursel--"

Zabini followed. "I don't know that girl of yours, Malfoy. Why should I risk myself for--"

"We're not talking about her."

"_And_," Zabini continued as if he'd not heard, "I've covered for _you_ plenty of--"

"You've covered for me? How about the times I've covered for you? If that's what you want to talk about."

"What?"

"You think Boor's not wise to that fact that someone tipped me off about the Death Eaters' meeting? You know what he'd do if he ever--"

Zabini's hand clapped down on Draco's shoulder, and shoved him down a side corridor.

"The hell, Zabini. Let me go," Draco growled, struggling beneath the taller boy's grasp.

Zabini lifted his hand off of Draco's shoulder then, but they stood already facing one another, with Draco's back against the wall.

"Well?" Draco demanded.

"If Boor's looking for--" Zabini looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice, "--for me, then what the hell are you doing blabbing about it in the middle of the hallway?"

Draco dropped his gaze. He really didn't have an answer. Temper had gotten the better of him.

"Has he really been looking?"

Draco nodded. "He's been trying to get it out of me."

"I-- I didn't realize."

"Now you do," Draco said simply.

"Yeah. I do now." Zabini looked up at him, then, no longer defensive, his eyes no longer hard: "That knife?"

"I dropped it off in the kitchens this morning." Draco had slipped it to one of the other house-elves, one of the ones he didn't know, asking him not to say anything about it. He had been sure Dobby would sight the blood on the edge and would berate him terribly for it. As it had been, Draco had had to give Alana a cursory explanation. Her fingers would otherwise have made his arm numb. She had not been at all happy, but with his assurances that it had only been to escape Boor, and seeing, running her fingers over the scabs, she had been a little less harsh. She had told him off, but had not yelled, saying they could have gotten him something to ease the scarring if he had let her or Dobby know. She looked though, Draco had been glad to see, as if she had understood-- at least enough.

"What-- what did you need it for?"

Draco shook his head. "Zabini, don't ask."

Zabini seemed to hesitate. He stepped back, but kept his keen gaze fixed on Draco, holding his eyes. "You're my only dorm-mate, Malfoy; everyone else has left. Maybe-- maybe we should start acting like it."

"What d'you mean?"

"I've saved your skin, you've saved mine, but we can't talk. We don't even call each other by our first names."

"So you're saying you want to..."

"Truce?" Zabini held out his hand.

Draco didn't take it. "You mean, I give up my old prejudices against you, you let go any suspicions you harbor, we start talking--"

"You haven't got many friends, Malfoy," Zabini laughed. "I'd take the offer."

"Oh real friendly, that is, Zabini. All right. I'll take your offer." He took Zabini's hand too. "But let's not talk anymore here."

"It's just us in that dorm and no one to tell us to go to bed," Zabini agreed. "We'll have plenty of time to catch up later." He quirked a grin. "I want to hear about this girl you've snagged."

"I haven't 'snagged' her, Zabini," Draco said, walking away, back toward the crowd that had thinned.

"Later," Zabini laughed.

The two of them ambled down through the castle, chatting amiably, but keeping strictly still to trivial subjects like class-work. Talk of the weather was ushered in as they descended the marble staircase to the entrance hall. The oaken doors had been thrown open and, in the wake of the previous day's storm, the bright sunshine, deep green grasses, and the Springtime draft were particularly inviting.

"Come outside?" Blaise asked now, making toward the doors.

Draco though, had remained on the bottom step, looking over the flagstones of the entrance hall. _"Dobby? What's the password to Dumbledore's office, do you know?"_ He recalled the prickles of fear that had run through him as he listened to the headmaster's retreating footsteps the previous night, as he had stood frozen in this hall, feeling the chills of Azkaban's constant cold. "I think... No, Zabini. I--" He had had too much of the outdoors for now at any rate. It was one of the last places he wanted to be right now, even now that the sun had driven away the clouds and rain. Maybe that would make a better excuse? "I have somewhere else to go," he heard himself say instead. Bugger.

Zabini was looking at him perplexedly. "You sure you're all right?" he asked again.

Draco swallowed, trying to regain control over himself. "Yes," he lied, "I'm fine. I just have someone to see."

Zabini smiled then. "It's that girl of yours, isn't it?" he teased.

"Yes," Draco lied again. "Alana." He forced a smile. "I'll see you later, Blaise."

"Later, Draco," Blaise called, as with a wink, he strode toward the door. "Enjoy yourself."

Draco let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah." As Blaise disappeared through the doors, Draco turned to trek back up the flights to the headmaster's office, running over what he would say, what he wanted to conceal, what he had to explain.

The gargoyle mocked him with its unreadable expression from in front of the secret entrance to the Dumbledore's study. Draco, though, was ready for it, having asked Dobby for the password before he had left him this morning. "Jelly slugs," he told it, and it leapt aside and into a bow as the wall behind it ground open. Draco couldn't resist smiling smugly at it as he passed between the halves of the split wall and mounted the moving staircase.

Draco's hands were trembling as he stepped off the stairs and hesitated before the gleaming oaken door. He was perhaps as nervous now as he had been just over a month ago when he had last stood here, but now there was no one-- no Hagrid-- to make him go through with it. He could turn around now, descend the stairs, and Dumbledore would never know he had been there. But he remembered the sadness in the headmaster's tone: _"I thought you came here seeking my help, Draco. I can only help you if you're willing to accept it."_

Draco was willing. He wanted it. He needed it. He wrapped his hand around the brass knocker and let the ring fall.

Dumbledore's voice drifted to him through the wood as it had that last time: "Enter."

Draco took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Albus Dumbledore was sitting, as before, behind his gleaming desk. Silver instruments glittered in the cases along the wall and on spindly-legged tables. The sound of soft breathing filled the room as the portraits of previous headmasters and -mistresses slept.

"Draco."

Draco looked toward him then. His blue eyes were wide beneath their half-moon glasses. He started to stand as Draco let himself into the room. Draco closed the door behind himself to avoid looking into his penetrating stare.

"You wish to see me?"

Draco turned slowly, his eyes on the floor. Everything he had rehearsed seemed woefully empty now. He had not practiced enough. He opened his mouth and let the words come tumbling out as they chose. "I don't know what you want, Professor."

"Draco?"

"What more can I offer? I tried surrendering myself to you, giving myself up as a prisoner. I offered you information."

"Draco, I don't--"

"I said some terrible things to you and treated you with terrible disrespect last night, Professor, and I think you ought to know that I meant none of it. But I can't think of any way to prove myself to you." Draco cast his eyes around at the wall, at the heads in their gilt frames. "I think I must fail you as much as I failed my father."

Dumbledore said nothing and Draco felt as though those words had dropped into his stomach like two stones. They had pressed at his throat as they passed and it felt sore, tight now. He kept his eyes downcast, tracing the mortar between the flagstones. If he concentrated, he could keep them from stinging.

The snorting snore of one of the headmasters on the wall broke the silence.

Then Dumbledore added, "Please, Draco, sit down."

Draco did not argue. He crossed the room and sank into the same cushioned chair he had sat in before, with Dumbledore across the desk from him.

Dumbledore's instruments clicked and whirred. "I don't think you've failed me."

Draco still wouldn't look at him. "But I--"

"Do you think you are the only student in my many, many years here who has acted abrasively? On occasion, I think I deserve it."

"You didn't deserve it from me," Draco mumbled.

"Did I not? Draco, what have I done to help you since your return here?"

Draco glanced up at him then. "You gave me a place to stay. That was more than I was expecting."

"But not all you had hoped for?"

"I just wanted to get away from him, Professor. I just hoped you'd keep him away. That was all." Draco didn't want to admit that the headmaster had not been entirely successful in securing that protection. He didn't know what would become of him if Dumbledore knew he had had contact-- more than once, though once in the flesh-- with the Dark Lord. Potter's voice seemed to hiss at him, "_Spy."_

"I admit then that I had hoped-- and understood that you hoped-- for more. You would not answer before when I asked if you thought you had any worth. Have you an answer for me now? Have I done anything to help you find one?"

Draco was still thinking about his dreams of the Dark Lord. What might the Dark Lord learn from such encounters? Did his Legilimency work while Draco was, it seemed, in two places at once? He did not dare tell Dumbledore that perhaps it was best that he kept his distance, that Draco's bodily absence seemed little impediment to a wizard as powerful as the Dark Lord. Where would he go if he had to leave Hogwarts, if Potter was right about Draco, if he was working as a spy, even now? Was it not odd that the Dark Lord had been there-- at Hogwarts-- had run his finger along Draco's face, and not tried to wrest him back to Durmstrang? The Dark Lord still clearly intended to have him back: _"I did not then think I could win you back. Now I've thought of a way."_ Why not take Draco outright while he could? It would have been so easy....

"Draco?"

Draco blinked and focused again on the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, surveying him over the top of his glasses. "Sorry, sir, I-- What were we--"

"I'd asked whether you had found your worth?"

Had he found his worth? _"Maybe I am weak-willed like they say." _ But Alana hadn't thought so. Alana. He tried to fight back the smile that came to his lips. His own lips brushing against hers. Brushing aside the tear that she couldn't hold back, brushing aside the ashes to free the flames of their first kiss. That flame rising inside of him--

"A smile." Dumbledore chuckled. "This is a good sign."

"I've found a friend," Draco admitted. "Maybe even more than one," he added, thinking of Blaise.

"Ah, you've discovered what Lord Voldemort--" Dumbledore ignored the flinch that shook all thoughts of Alana from him "--never did. I'm glad."

Draco blinked, trying now to clear away the icy flash of fear. "I have?" he wondered.

"Love. I have told him before. It is an old argument between us."

"But sir-- I don't-- There are only some times when--"

Dumbledore's mustache twitched.

Draco had to shake his head. "I still don't feel free," he finished, sure the confession would smooth the wrinkles of the old man's face with a frown.

"I'm afraid I am not surprised," Dumbledore said, sobering some as Draco had expected-- but not much. "It's a salve only, Draco. It is a magic more powerful and more mysterious than any we teach here and therefore its effects cannot be as other magics': immediate and simple. Your wounds are deep. Love and friendship might ease your pain, but it will be a long time before you're fully healed-- if you or anyone might ever truly be so."

Draco frowned, more puzzled than anything else. He recalled some of the rumors he'd heard about the professor's deteriorating sanity and suddenly wondered if there was more truth to them than he'd ever given credit. "I can't fight the Dark Lord with friendship."

"Have you tried?"

"Well, I-- Is that your trick?" Draco wondered.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I have many tricks, Draco. What does the Dark Lord use to control his Death Eaters?" he prompted.

"Well," Draco hesitated, "some of them think he's got the right idea-- my Aunt Bellatrix-- But mostly-- it's not friendship, certainly. Fear, I suppose. He tortures us if-- tortured me."

"Fear," Dumbledore nodded. "He does not understand how much more fiercely people will fight for one they love. His Death Eaters fight because they are told to, not to protect him, not because of any desire to please him--"

"But--"

Dumbledore spoke over him, "They wish to please themselves. It is to protect themselves from his wrath that they fight or for the rewards they believe they will earn for their services. Am I right to suppose this? It may seem a small difference, but it means everything."

Draco let his gaze wander toward the instruments behind Dumbledore on the shelves. A glint of silver caught his eye and showed him a tiny Sneak-o-scope, which stood still on its point. "I suppose, sir," he said cautiously, "that that makes sense. I think-- I think there are... a few who fight for him. But mostly.... I wouldn't fight for him. Not the way I fought the other night. That wasn't even for Alana, really. I mean, it was, but it was really for her friend-- Kari-- Kari Ollivander. She was the one in trouble. And I just jumped in to save her, without any real thought for myself. She didn't even like me. But Alana liked her." Draco smiled slowly. "Yes, I think I see what you mean, sir. It's a great difference."

Dumbledore smiled.

_A/N: Gosh. With a Dumbledore-headed conversation like that, I feel as if I could end my book. But I've still so much more to tell you-- and so much more time to fill before we reach June and the end of the Hogwarts year. I mapped it all out on iCal the other night. Today is only April 10, 1995. So, though this may seem like a good breaking point, I guess you still have more to look forward to. Until next chapter then, my dear readers._

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	13. Webs, a Spider, and Flies

When Draco passed Boor in the common room that night, his eyes darted quickly away. Boor was sitting an armchair alone in a dark corner, where Draco couldn't see him well. Behind him, the lake was a deep blue-green, the moonlight just barely penetrating this deep into the water. He wondered what the Dark Lord had done to him. His voice seemed to hiss in his ear again, _"I don't expect Boor to win. I don't intend for him to win. You have to kill him. Just kill him, Draco."_ Draco looked quickly away, his stomach knotting. There had to be another way...

He ignored, as he usually did, the other Slytherins, and cut straight across the room and into the narrow shaft that led to the dorm rooms. Blaise was sitting on his bed when Draco pushed open the door at the end of the corridor. He grinned up at Draco and Draco smiled reluctantly back.

"Well, no need to look so glum," Blaise pouted.

Draco quirked a bit of a grin as he looked toward him; Blaise was leaning back on splayed hands, the way Alana had the night before. Thoughts of Alana overshadowed his worries about Boor. "No," Draco agreed, "it's been a good day on the whole." He passed and let himself fall onto his own bed, facing Blaise.

xxxx

Despite his assurances to Blaise, his attempts to force a smile and a better attitude, Draco continued to fret. That he had succumbed to Boor's Imperius worried him. That Boor had not tried again worried him more. The Dark Lord, he knew, was not one to give up easily. The Imperius had been bad enough. What new technique would occur to him? What would he next try to draw Draco back to him? Alana was becoming not the balm she once was. He still spent time with her, and enjoyed doing so. But sometimes, when she turned toward him, beaming, he thought about what Boor had said: _"He has a friend. A girlfriend. From Gryffindor."_ How long would it be before the Dark Lord found out who she was? How long could he expect her not to be targeted? _"That's interesting. Is she close to Harry Potter? I may need her later." _Once or twice he considered breaking up with her, but then she would smile at him, or her hand would catch his, or her lips would brush against his cheek, or would press against his own, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He knew his dour mood did not go unnoticed. _"Are you all right?"_ Alana had asked him, wrapping her hand about his. He had lied. _"What's the matter?"_ one of the Slytherins had called to him across the common room. _"His plans not working out?" "Or is it your girlfriend?"_ that Slytherin's friend had jeered. He thought he imagined that the gazes of Professors Dumbledore and Snape strayed toward him more often than was usual at mealtimes.

With that and the billows of black smoke emanating from his cauldron, Draco was only half-surprised when Snape looked down his hooked nose at him as he paused beside his work station, and said, his black eyes boring into Draco's, "Stay after class, Malfoy."

Gryffindors and Slytherins alike tried to hide snickers. Draco heard Potter's, Weasley's, and Longbottom's particularly. Snape did not reprimand any of them, but continued to stride along the aisle, inspecting their potions. Draco had lost the elevated position of Professor Snape's favored pupil long ago. That no one from the class seemed to have replaced him was little comfort now as he ducked his head, his cheeks a little warmer than they ought to have been, and attempted to move some of his smoking sludge into a flask for judgment.

What would Snape ask him? What could he tell the Potions master? What did he have to hide? He remembered talking with Snape several weeks ago now, standing in his office. _"Anything I say to you could get back to the Dark Lord."_ Surely, that went both ways? But maybe not? _"He won't find out. Your aunt may not know Occlumency's true purpose, but I do."_ This thought made Draco relax only a little.

The noise of the class was growing around him. People were bringing up their potions and were chatting as they cleared and cleaned their stations.

"Good luck, Draco," Blaise whispered as he slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to stalk out of the classroom.

Draco looked up. Ron Weasley sneered triumphantly at him as he turned away from the Potions master's desk. His was the last flask apart from Draco's own. Draco waited until the voices of Weasley, and of Potter and Granger, who had waited for him, disappeared behind the solid thud of the closing classroom door, then shuffled, alone, toward Snape's desk with his flasked potion. Snape watched him the whole way to his desk and as he added his flask to the others. Draco tried to avoid his stare.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes averted.

There was moment's pause, before- "Look at me, Draco."

Draco obeyed the command, slowly raising his to meet the professor's gaze. He could easily have fallen down the wells of Snape's eyes.

"Last time we spoke," Snape said, his voice low, like the froth of sap on the logs of a fire, like the Dark Lord's own- Draco fought not to shiver, "you told me you were happier here."

Draco tried to force a smile, but felt it waver on his lips unconvincingly. "I'm worried, sir," he admitted, feeling he had no alternative to the truth. "About him."

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched. "Well, if you're going to worry about anything-"

"He wants me back, sir."

"He does. He has only one- perhaps two things he'd like more."

"He's-" Draco dropped his gaze and, finding that his hand had closed over the place where the Dark Mark was burned into his skin, quickly released his arm "-he's always visiting me in my sleep. He comes into my dreams and he tries to persuade me to come back to him. And three weeks ago he had Boor- Callous Boor, you know, sir- put me under the Imperius. I had to throw myself into that terrible rainstorm we had to rid myself of the curse..."

Snape's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

"Sir, what is he plotting? Surely you must-"

Snape actually chuckled, briefly relieving Draco of his stare. "You learned flattery at your parents' knees," he commented.

Draco dropped his eyes to the ground. "More while eavesdropping on them, actually," he confessed. "But sir-" Draco looked up again, allowed Snape's dark eyes to capture his, "_do_ you know?"

Snape stared a moment at him. "I know many secrets of his, Draco. And am permitted to speak of none of them."

"But sir-"

"If he has any plans regarding you-"

"I-" At Draco's interruption, Snape himself fell silent and stared. Though Draco did not like to go on, Snape seemed to expect it. "It's not-" He swallowed. "Does he have any plans for Alana?"

"Alana?"

"My-" Draco felt the color in his cheeks again "-my girlfriend, sir," he mumbled, dropping his eyes briefly. "Alana O'Toule. From Gryffindor."

If Snape was surprised, if he disapproved, he didn't show it. His dark gaze remained level, boring through Draco. "Is she close to Harry Potter?" he asked, repeating the Dark Lord's question.

"No! I- I don't think so," Draco finished. "Sir, please, I don't want her- She can't get- It'd be my fault if-"

"If she's not close to Harry Potter then I think she has nothing to fear presently."

"Sir, she's close to me!"

"But you, Draco, are closer to the Dark Lord than any girl from Gryffindor can be to you."

Draco stared, blinked. He felt his breathing shallowing, as if something- something terrifying were closing in upon him- something he had seen lurking in dark shadows for a long time, but which was now so close behind him that it only had to reach out to- "What- what do you mean?" The voice he managed to push out was a mere whisper.

For the first time, Snape looked away. "Ah," he said delicately. "Perhaps- You are perceptive, Draco."

"Sir, what did you mean?" Draco repeated, his voice a little louder, a little more forceful now, refusing to be deflected.

"I do not profess, Draco, to know- The Dark Lord would not like me sharing-"

Draco could not recall ever having seen Snape look this flustered. Always he was smooth as oil, cool in the most desperate of situations. "Sir- please?"

Snape momentarily shut his eyes, as if in frustration, but when he opened them, his stare was steady and fixed on Draco. He nodded once. "All right," he said simply. "We've come to it." Then, he drew his wand. With a wave, a straight-backed and most uncomfortable-looking chair fell to the ground behind Draco. "You will," Snape said quietly, watching him warily even now, "want to sit down."

Draco obeyed but the command, the determination in Snape's tone did nothing to settle the nervousness that had closed in upon him. "Sir-"

"Draco, if you would ask me to explain this to you, then please, allow me to speak and do not interrupt."

Draco shut his mouth firmly against the swell of questions that pushed at his lips, that churned in his stomach.

"Understand, Draco, that I know only what the Death Eaters do- those who were with him before his first fall- and that is very little. You know as well as I that the Dark Lord is secretive. I do not think he would like me to tell you. I do not think he means for you to know. But as I have told you, Draco, I have been trying to look out for your own interests. If the Dark Lord has used the measures you've described to me, I cannot help but think he will not cease hunting you, and perhaps you have the right to know-"

"Sir, you think the dreams were real, then?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I have asked you not to interrupt me, Draco."

"Right, sorry, of course, si-" He clamped his lips shut again at the Potions master's glare.

"I do, as a matter of fact," Snape said when Draco had quieted, "believe those dreams are real. You know, of course, that the Dark Lord binds his servants to himself?"

"That's what the Dark Mark is for, right, sir?"

"Yes," Snape hissed. "The Dark Mark allows a certain amount of communication between the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters."

"So is that what you meant when you said-"

"No, it is not. You are indeed bound to the Dark Lord through the Mark on your arm, Draco, but he has also tied the two of you together more securely, through other enchantments, stronger and more complex. I cannot say what those may be. He has, to my knowledge, never shared that with any Death Eater. I do not believe even your parents-"

"Why? Why would he want to bind me so-"

"The Dark Lord heard a prophecy, Draco, sixteen years ago, a prophecy which concerned one boy who could be his downfall-"

"Potter."

Snape neither confirmed nor denied it. "The Dark Lord puts much store in prophecy. His regime was already threatened by Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. The Ministry was fighting back brutally. Now the arrival of another, more dangerous enemy was foretold. He did not like to sit idle while he awaited the birth of this boy. He looked to defend himself, defend the army he had built." Snape stopped and his eyes now practically melted the skin from Draco, who shivered despite himself.

Draco's breath shallowed, seemed almost stilled, as if too frightened by Snape's stare, by the professor's words to leave the dark cavities of Draco's chest.

"He has called you many things, Draco. As precious as a wand, as powerful, and as useful. His second. His shield. His son. You were not more than a few weeks old when he came to claim you. Though I believe your mother put up a small fuss, your father was eager to give you to this great purpose. You see, Draco, you were destined to be elevated above all the rest of us, to be his only second, his most beloved, his closest ally. If a boy could be his downfall, why could a boy not also be his defense?"

The words escaped Draco in a whisper, barely spoken, "I don't understand."

"And I can explain little more. I have already told you, the Dark Lord told no one what he used to bind you to him, how he had signaled you out. We only knew that you were to be revered, to be respected as he was, your judgments and well-being second only to his."

"That doesn't even make sense," Draco said now, running a hand through his hair and staring, hard, at the floor. "If I was so young-"

"You were meant to be raised by his side- like a son. Only-"

"Potter," Draco finished. "Potter finished him."

"Temporarily. He had hoped Lucius would raise you in his absence, would realize your task was not yet over, that the bond was unbroken. When you returned to him," Snape continued delicately, "you were not the son, not the ally he had hoped to have by this time. You were supposed to know nothing but him, nothing but his creeds, his means. He fears, I think, that you might never become what he had hoped, but the worth of the magic he worked over you, in you apparently outweighs this. He cannot and will not lose you, Draco."

_Cannot? Will not?_ "Sir," Draco confided, "I don't want this. I don't want to be his."

"But, Draco, you are. You are his. You are bound to the Dark Lord as no other Death Eater has been, and given your disastrous entrance into his world, as no other Death Eater will likely ever be."

"But that's just- He couldn't possibly have- His second? His shield? Precious as-" Draco shivered at the sudden, vivid memory of the Dark Lord's long finger running along the plane of his cheek, possessive, almost lovingly, the way he ran his hand along the handle of his wand. He thought of the red eyes burning into his own and phrases- such phrases... _"Did you think that I would not notice you? You? Who I have watched even from the forests of Albania, who I have-" "I don't like to hurt you, Draco." "Fools, Draco. Power-hungry idiots. Not you. You don't try, you don't need to." "You have what they could only dream of, what most of them would be unable even to imagine." "You're my son. Did I not trust you tonight? Do you think I would allow my _bichon frisé_, as you call it, to attend one of my meetings without having been fully inducted?" _And finally, the low hiss in the cold of the grounds around Durmstrang as power such as Draco had never felt, the very power he had had to call upon to save himself from the Imperius coursed through his veins like dragon fire: _"You could have been great, you know. You were destined for greatness, to rule by my side. You could have power beyond anyone's wildest imaginings."_ With Snape's insight, he wondered now why he hadn't guessed, hadn't even suspected. He remembered the Dark Lord relenting, having punished him with the Cruciatus, tipping a soothing potion down his throat himself, holding him upright with an arm around his shoulders. He might have retched. How often had he said, _"I have told you, my Draco, I do not seek your death. I have never sought your death-"_? This was why. He was too valuable a tool.

"You see it now, then?" Snape wondered.

"He treats me like it," Draco admitted on a breath. "But sir- I won't-"

"I did not mean, Draco, to do any more than arm you. You know now. Do with that what you will."

"You're not even going to help me out of this?" Draco hissed. Anger was beginning to mingle with the fear, the hot run with the cold through his veins, leaving him shaking. It was not the first time Snape had refused to help him. "You? The one person who might? You fought him. You managed to escape the Death Eaters-"

"Draco," Snape cut in sharply, above his plea, "I claimed no such thing. You saw me there yourself. You should know where my loyalties lie."

Draco looked up at him then, glaring. Even the sudden flare of anger brought out by his desperation was not enough to overwhelm the sense of darkness closing in over his head, of drowning in it, of not being able to see the surface let alone claw his way to it. But anger sharpened his tone. "No, sir, I don't. But you've said you're looking out for me. So help me." Draco's hands dug into his hair, pressing the heels of his palms against temples that were beginning to pound with the pressure of the words Snape spoke, the chains that, revealed, only grew heavier. "I don't want to be his. I _can't_ be his. I won't be."

Snape shook his head. "This magic is beyond me, Draco. I know nothing and can do nothing."

"You know that he won't let me go, that he'll drag me down till-"

Snape stared at him. The lines of his mouth were taut, but he showed no signs of relenting, made no move to rise, no temptation to speak.

"So it's fight until it kills me or give in?" Draco shouted.

"I'm sure," Snape said quietly, almost hoarsely, "the Dark Lord will have planned-"

"Yeah, well I've foiled his plans before, haven't I?" Draco folded his arms across himself. "I'll just have to find a way to do it again. With or without your help."

"Draco- wait. I was not d-"

But Draco had already leapt from the chair and was halfway across the classroom. He threw open the door and slammed it shut behind himself.

xxxx

"DOBBY!" Draco shouted, swinging the painting shut behind himself.

The brightly-clad house-elf across the room leapt into the air. The pudding he was holding slipped through his long fingers. The glass bowl shattered and the chocolate flew everywhere, splattering his well-kept clothes.

The other house-elves, scurrying left and right with laden and cleared lunch dishes for the five tables, paused to watch Draco pass, jumping out of his way as Dobby cleaned himself up with a snap of his long fingers.

Draco repented his shout, the imitation of his father's most threatening tone only somewhat as Dobby looked up at him, eyes wide and fingers trembling, to ask, "Yes, Master Draco?"

"We need to talk," he said bluntly.

"N-now?"

"Now." Draco did not wait for Dobby's invitation but stalked toward the hidden room that so often closeted him and Alana, breathing heavily and trying to regain control of himself.

Dobby entered the room a few paces behind Draco, who had already lit the fire with a flick of his wand. The elf was wringing his hands. "Yes, Master Draco?" he repeated. He kept his gaze on his socked feet now.

Draco frowned. He had made him really nervous. Dobby, the elf who had practically raised him, his first friend, and playmate. But this same connection was the reason he was cross to begin with. He tried, all the same, for a gentler tone. "Did you know?"

"Know, sir?"

"Yes." Draco fought the bite of impatience. "About me- and the Dark Lord."

Dobby looked up then, his eyes were wide, but his fingers ceased twisting around one another. "Oh Master Draco," he breathed, his ears drooping.

Draco's eyes flew open. "You _did_ know."

"How is you finding out? Who is telling you? You isn't supposed to know. Dobby was forbidden to speak-"

"By my parents?"

Dobby nodded. "After he fell, sir. 'Never speak of it, Dobby,' Master says."

"After?"

Dobby nodded again. "Before it- you isn't- If others is knowing that Master Draco-" He was wringing his hands again.

Draco hadn't even considered that. What if someone- what if Potter- what if Dumbledore- what if the Aurors found out that he was some sort of defense for the Dark Lord, bound to him as no other Death Eater ever had been, supposed to be his most beloved, a son? Draco only wondered whether they would try to use him as bait or whether they would have sense enough to kill him immediately. "You didn't tell me to protect me?"

Another nod. "And because Master said not to, sir. Dobby wants him dead, sir, but he isn't wanting Master Draco dead too."

Draco fell back into the armchair, still pulled near the fireplace from when Alana had brought him down here last. "God," he said, burying his face in his hands. The Dark Lord's shield, his second. Of course, he was a threat to the stability the Wizarding world fought for. Of course, he would be targeted if-

"Master Draco?"

Draco uncovered his eyes. The elf had crept close. Now he laid a long-fingered hand on Draco's arm. "Dobby is telling no one, sir. Dobby isn't letting them kill you too."

"I know, Dob." Draco forced a smile. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have gone off on you. I know you'd never-"

"Master Draco is scared."

Draco hesitated before confirming it. "Yeah. Yeah, I am, Dobby." He laughed weakly. "Can you blame me?"

Dobby shook his head. Then he asked, "What will Master Draco do?"

"What I've always done, I guess. Try and ignore it all. Deny him till-" But his own words were coming back to him: _"So it's fight until it kills me or give in?"_

"Dobby doesn't want Master Draco to go back to him," Dobby said quietly at his elbow.

Draco met the elf's eyes. "I don't want to go back to him either, Dobby." But his choices seemed miserably limited.

xxxx

Draco let Dobby give him a little lunch though it sat like hardening lead in his stomach, but returned to the dormitory afterward, though he knew he'd be punished for missing more classes. Class just suddenly didn't seem particularly important. Particularly Hagrid's stupid Care of Magical Creatures. With the Gryffindors. With Potter. Still, he made some effort. He retrieved his schoolbooks and sat with them on the bed. He even managed to open one, though the words were mere ink on the pages, meaningless and far too dense for him to skim. He wanted to lie down, to fall asleep, maybe even never wake up- or only wake up when he wanted to, for whom he wanted to. But he knew he couldn't. And he feared sleeping too. The Dark Lord invaded his dreams. What would Draco say to him, now that he knew?

He pulled a roll of parchment toward him and undid the top of ink bottle, intending to start on his lightest essay, one for Professor Sprout on the properties of the Screechsnap, which was all fact and little thought.

He dipped his quill into the bottle and pulled it out again. Lustrous, black ink trickled from its pointed tip, falling back into the bottle in droplets and looking oddly sinister. It fell as blood does, drop by drop, slowly sucking the life out of a person as it ran, forsaking them to death. _That's what I am,_ Draco thought. _A ready pen. 'As precious, as powerful as a wand.' Just an instrument to spread his darkness._

He thought now, even awake, though dazed, exhausted, he heard the Dark Lord's low laugh. _You cannot run from it. It is part of you. You cannot escape it. The fight against it will kill you in the end._

Draco's face hardened as he glared at the ink, then he threw the pen from him. It landed, point downward, in Blaise's pillow. Draco grimaced and got up to repair the damage.

_Ha,_ he thought as he tried to sponge the ink from the white cotton case with his wand. There was a deep gash, like that of a sword's thrust, beneath the ink. _There's a job I'd rather have. Cleaning up his mess. Like Potter. Like the Aurors._

xxxx

Schoolwork proved futile and he gave up even pretending after some time, giving free rein to the thoughts that were barreling through his brain. The Dark Lord wanted him because he had chosen him as a baby to be bound to him in some way that protected the Dark Lord. Dobby knew- Dobby had always known- but had not told him because he thought Draco would be in danger if people knew- and Draco thought he was probably right. And Snape had known- and all the Death Eaters from his first rising. Draco was supposed to be his second-in-command and they were supposed to have listened to him as they did the Dark Lord now.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made, not only what the Dark Lord himself had said to him, his actions toward him, calling him his son, but what the Death Eaters had said and done too. _"Is he still your-"_ Rabastan Lestrange had tried to ask before the Dark Lord had cut him off with a hissed, _"Yes."_ And Mulciber- his father's old friend- had once called Draco "young master" and Draco had thought he was mocking him. Had he really been serious? And his Aunt Bellatrix: _"So Draco, you've taken your place at last! And now, I've returned to mine, too. Oh it is good to know the Death Eaters will be in such good hands if, Merlin forbid, something should ever happen to-"_ That memory worried him somewhat. It sounded as if his aunt expected _him_ to be the next Dark Lord. He didn't like that idea at all. He had no proof of it, he decided, and Auntie Bella was insane. He pushed that thought aside. There was no need to worry about what might not be true- not when there was more than enough to worry about that was.

Draco forgot class. He forgot dinner. He was lost in trying to devise some way out of the Dark Lord's shackles. Now he knew he'd have to do more than break away from him physically. If only he knew how he was bound it would be so much easier! For a few minutes as he paced around the dorm, he toyed with the idea of asking the Dark Lord about it outright, but he didn't want to see him, didn't want to prolong any encounter in which he might be forced to take part. He hoped that if he didn't bring it up, if he hid behind the basic principles of Occlumency he had learned from his aunt, the Dark Lord might not guess that he now knew. He was certain the Dark Lord would tighten his bonds and keep a closer watch on him if- _no_, Draco reasoned, deciding practicality was best, _when_- he found out that Draco knew. Draco wanted to avoid that- delay that- at almost any cost.

The door inched open and Draco jumped, turning to face it as his hand plunged for his wand.

"Draco," Blaise sighed. "I'd hoped you be here-"

"Why's that?" Draco demanded, shoving his wand back in his pocket. His fingers seemed stiff, reluctant to let it go.

"Because, idiot, you've missed every class and every meal since Potions- since you talked with Snape. I didn't think he'd have done anything to you, but- well, he hasn't been indulgent since-"

"I'm fine." Nervousness made the assurance acidic.

"You don't look fine," Blaise said, coming into the room and shutting the door behind himself with his dark eyes fixed on Draco. "You're pale. You look-" Blaise seemed to have trouble finding the right word. "You look like you've seen your death," he finished.

Draco frowned deeply. _Like I've seen my death?_ But then, maybe he had. Maybe he had seen the death of his hope for freedom. Maybe he saw his life ending in the Dark Lord's chains. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, dropping his gaze to his own booted toes, to the smooth stone floor. He was surprised his pacing had not worn a furrow into the rock.

"You never do," Blaise sighed. Draco heard his bed sigh too as it took his weight.

"Meaning what?"

Blaise sighed again and pulled a book from his bedside stand, flipping it open as he said, "You're just a really introverted person is all. Or at least when you're upset."

"I'm not upset," Draco bawled.

Blaise's sharp stare flicked up to meet Draco's. "You want to say that again in an even tone?"

"Shut up, Zabini." Draco spun away and froze. He was facing his own reflection in the age-spotted mirror across the room. Slowly, he moved towards it, under the guise of widening the distance between them. Draco didn't often look at his reflection anymore. He didn't like to see the changes Durmstrang had wrought on him. Watching his self come closer was like watching the approach of a ghost. His clothes hung more loosely from his shoulders, falling to reveal the delicate outline of his collarbones, the vulnerable hollow of his throat. His cheekbones were too prominent. His wrists looked like they might slip through most manacles. Shadows gathered beneath his eyes and contrasted sharply with his skin, which had always been pale, but having been shut up inside a castle for seven months, now resembled the pallor of one the marble statues in the Malfoy mausoleum. With his silvery hair and wary expression, he might almost have passed for the Bloody Baron's cousin. He frowned at the reflection. _Like I've seen my death,_ Draco agreed.

He glanced up. He could see Blaise in the reflection too, watching him from behind his book, his dark eyes peering over the binding. He said nothing, only stared. Draco knew what he wanted, but he wouldn't- couldn't talk about this.

"I'm going to bed," he sighed because he couldn't stand that level stare, almost as boring as Snape's, reminding him too much of the Potions master, of the conversation that had passed between them.

"Suit yourself," Blaise said as Draco slunk back to the bed and began rifling shut the several books he had tried to read and the blank roll of parchment meant for his Herbology essay. His shoulders hurt. There was a pain in his back. Blaise said nothing more as Draco replaced his day clothes with pajamas, but watched him as he crawled onto the mattress, and pulled the curtains closed around him.

But Draco still didn't want to sleep. He sat with his knees drawn to his chest on the bed, half-wishing that he'd kept a book so he could focus his mind on the nonsensical scrawl and keep it away from the darkness that was beginning to close in on him. He was tired, really. And the light was dim behind the velvet. If he could only be sure he wouldn't dream... With a groan, he fell back against the pillows, surrendering himself to the pulse that beat against his skull, his tingling fingers, to the pain that had become physical, and the darkness that he had today come to think of as an inescapable part of himself.

xxxx

He was not long in coming. Draco had not expected him to be. He did not remember anything between closing his eyes and opening them again on the room that had become familiar, dark but for the low fire, Nagini thankfully absent tonight, the heavy, dark-wood desk that just caught the glint of firelight, the line of it along its edge leading his gaze back to the chair that was lost in darkness, which only just allowed the grey shadow of the skull-like face and the gleam of red eyes to rise from the gloom.

"I expected you sooner," he said, his voice very low, the corners of his lipless mouth upturned. "You have been trying to get to me all day. I've felt your push."

"I've been trying to avoid you all day," Draco corrected.

"Maybe consciously," the Dark Lord allowed.

Draco said nothing, did not look at him. He was looking down at the flagstones. He remembered those flagstones well. He had lain prone upon them, the stings of the Dark Lord's whip spell hatching his skin, the uneven stone hard against his flesh and bone. It was after that that the Dark Lord had declared Draco dead to him.

"You know now." It was not a question. "It was, perhaps, foolish of me to expect that I could keep it from you."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Draco was surprised himself by the rawness of his voice, but the Dark Lord did not flinch from it.

He laughed, a low noise in his throat like the gurgle of a thick potion. "Perhaps I ought to have. You have never begged so to be in my presence, Draco, as you did today."

"No, I didn't want-"

"The subconscious is that, Draco. You might not have known it, but you wanted me. I am glad of it."

"Well, I'm not. I don't want this."

"This?"

"I don't want-" Draco looked up, his hands fisting at his sides, the nails biting into his flesh, not to lash out at him, but only to hold himself together, to restrain his own fingers, which tingled and sweat. "I don't want to be yours. Why do you think I ran? It wasn't only that I missed Hogwarts. I hate-"

"Surely not me." The corners of his lipless mouth curved, a cruel scimitar.

Draco bit his own lip, not sure what his answer was. At times, the Dark Lord had treated him well, had acted as a father... more so, more often than his own father. Did he really hate him? Maybe he hated what he had wanted Draco to do- but him?

"If you hate me, you hate yourself, Draco. You understand- you _know_ that now. You ran from me, you ran from yourself. It is all one. Perhaps you are scared of the power I've given you, that is yours to take?"

"I don't want to kill."

"I have already promised you that you need only do it once. There are certain ceremonies, certain rites that cannot be foregone. Your father did, I gather, manage to impart at least that to you."

Draco thought of the annual Christmas Eve party, the whirling figures in dress robes, the towering, bedecked Christmas tree and the brightly wrapped boxes beneath it, empty as the ceremony, but just as present.

"I want you," the Dark Lord said, his voice even, "to join me, Draco, because I know your potential. I cannot excuse it when I have made it myself. The power with which I gifted you-"

"What power?" Despite his resolve, the question slipped out, "How?"

The Dark Lord shook his head. Draco was surprised he gave any answer, almost jumped at the words, soft as the hiss of an ax on a grindstone, "My power. My own power, which I gave to you, for your use, to make you mine."

"You gave me-"

"I will not explain further, Draco, till I have your word, till you take your place by my side- where you always ought to have been- to stay this time. We were meant to rule together, Draco. What are you without me? What is a wand without a wizard's hand to guide it?"

"I can't- I won't do it," Draco promised, his voice hoarse, but firm. He thought he could feel the Dark Lord in his mind now, tugging at his mind like his Legilimency pulled at his thoughts.

"Why?"

Draco shook his head, hoping the violent shake would break the thread that the Dark Lord had wound into his brain, relieve that pull.

With his eyes jammed shut, he had not seen the Dark Lord stand and he moved so silently that he rarely heard him. But now his fingers caught at his chin, pushed his head back. A second hand caught at his wrist, pulling, holding him close. Draco threw his eyes open. He half expected there to be a knife at his throat, but it was brushed only by the cold fingers. He looked up only to see the red eyes glowing and hungry. "I don't think, Draco," he hissed, "that you know what you are rejecting. I don't think you realize."

He could feel the power growing within him. The beast inside him raised its head as if it recognized the presence of its maker- its master. The fire began to steal through him, shallowing his breath, making his heart hammer against his ribs like a creature that can barely be contained. His mind buzzed with the thrill.

"It is not merely this," the Dark Lord, hissed, "though this kind of power is nothing to ignore. Together, Draco, we would rule. We could rise to power in a matter of days. You could- and would- have anything. You could make them all do anything you wanted. And you could punish them, Draco, make them pay for what they've done to you. You could have your father- Potter on their knees begging you for mercy. Would that not please you?"

"No," Draco breathed, but even as he spoke, he could imagine his father's marble facade shattered, his mouth twisted with pain and grief and remorse. He could see Potter, his eyes wide with fear, not narrowed in hatred, looking young, vulnerable, and for once, Draco would be above him, better than him.

"It would be so simple, Draco," the Dark Lord whispered.

Though his hand slipped away from Draco's chin, Draco continued to stare, his gaze flicking back and forth between the Dark Lord's two red eyes as fear and longing plunged through him in equal measure, one battling the other. A long finger reached out to brush along his cheek. The twist of his mouth, the tone of his voice was too understanding. He knew that, even as he denied it, Draco wanted-

"But," he hissed, "it need not all be vengeance." The Dark Lord's smile continued to grow. "What can I get you, Draco? Tell me how to persuade you and I will do it."

Draco bit his lip. Did he want- But Dobby, Alana. He couldn't leave them. As plainly as he had seen his father's and Potter's ruin, he saw now Dobby's wide, sad eyes, the same look he had given Draco when Draco lay ill or injured because he had disobeyed either his parents or the elf and Dobby came to him with potions and ointments and spells. _Why does Master Draco not listen?_ he would ask. The elf continued, speaking words Draco had yet to hear, his voice wobbling with tears he didn't want to shed, _Why did Master Draco go back to him? Why isn't he listening to his Dobby? _Then he heard Alana's cry- an unearthly sound, not unlike that Draco had heard Mr. Diggory utter at the sight of his son on the Quidditch pitch after the Third Task, a sound that lanced through Draco like the shard of a broken heart, to twist at his stomach and tighten his chest, that had sent questions whirling through his brain, questions that gave him only pain, that had taken days to muzzle. Then, he had never thought anyone would ever make that sound for him. That his father- or even his mother- would ever do so seemed laughable. But Alana... She would cry, and then she would sit by the window of the Gryffindor common room- Draco could envision it now. Ginny and Kari would try to tempt her downstairs, to the Great Hall, the kitchen, but she would only shake her head. She would push open the door onto the Astronomy Tower and sigh, looking up at a starless black sky, even on the most clear night when the stars shone like diamonds. He could never do that to her. The very thought of her like that made his stomach writhe, as Mr. Diggory's wail had that June night. He shivered with the cold that stole into his bones- a cold that never felt her hand brush his. "Nothing," he choked out, meeting the red eyes again, looking up into his skull-like face as it came back into focus. "Let me go. Just let me go."

"Ah now, Draco," he hissed, "that will not bring you to my side. When one wants the fish, he does not remove the hook that has caught it."

"I don't want this," Draco said again. "I don't want to be yours."

"But you are mine. Mine, more than anyone else's. More than your father's. More than your mother's. More than your girl's."

Draco's breath caught in his throat and he stared, openmouthed, as the Dark Lord smiled still more broadly, the grin warping his features, making him even more frightening.

"The one Boor spoke of," he clarified. "From Gryffindor." The Dark Lord watched him carefully. "Wars are dangerous, Draco, I could ensure-"

Alana. The thought pulsed through Draco. He felt his heart leap, wondered if the vein in his wrist, beneath the Dark Lord's clamped fingers, might break as his hand fisted. He could not reach his wand. "Bastard," he spat. "You keep away from her or-"

"You'll have no more reason to deny me, will you?"

"I would," Draco growled. "I'd want to kill you myself. If you touch her-"

"_Draco?"_

"You have not heard me out. I could ensure her safety, if only-"

Ensure her safety? But- but- His voice drifted out on a breath, "If I joined you, she'd never forgive-"

"But she'd be safe."

"I'll stay with her," Draco said, more firmly. "I'll keep her safe."

"_Draco!"_

"You can't be with her all the time."

"And you can't get into Hogwarts. You don't even know her name. Don't drag her into this! It's me you want, not-"

"I want you, yes. But you want her."

Draco's eyes flew open. His cheek was stinging. One hand flew for his wand on the bedside stand as the pressure on his wrist released. The other shot out to catch-

The African boy gave a shout and tried to break his wrist from Draco's fierce vise, tried to stagger back as Draco's wand found his throat. "The _hell_, Malfoy-"

His chest rose and fell as if he had been running, dueling, not sleeping. "Blaise?" His grip on the wrist loosened and he withdrew his wand just a little, still keeping it at his neck.

"Yeah! Who'd you think?"

"I..." Draco let go of his hand, laid his wand beside him, and pushed himself up, pushed his hair back from his eyes. His face was wet, beads of sweat gathered at his hairline. He looked up at Blaise.

"You shouted in your sleep," Blaise said to his unasked question, rubbing his wrist as if Draco had chafed it. "Maybe hitting you was a bit much, but I couldn't leave you. You've tangled up your sheets. Look."

Draco did look. He had managed, even sleeping atop the blankets, to twist his quilt from the bed. It hung off the edge like a discarded carcass.

"Blaise-" Draco looked up at him, met his dark eyes, which looked sleepy but concerned. "Thank you," he rasped.

Blaise batted away the thanks with an elegant, drowsy hand. "You all right?" he asked. "Can I get back to sleep now?"

"Yeah," Draco said. "You can get back to sleep now. But-" he hesitated "-if that should happen again..."

"You want me to wake you up?"

Draco bit his lip again and nodded.

"Just- just don't attack me, next time."

"Try tossing a pillow at my head," Draco suggested.

"That," Blaise said, "I can do. Vigorously."

Draco managed a chuckle as he watched Blaise slink back to bed in his cotton pajama bottoms.

"Blaise?"

"Draco?"

"What did I say?"

Blaise paused, his hand on the curtain, sitting up in his bed. The whites of his eyes seemed to glow through the darkness, the dorm lit only by Blaise's still lit wand, by the last red rose petals of ember in their fireplace. "It was just a dream, Draco. Get back to bed."

"But- Blaise," his voice scraped raw along his throat again. "Did I say- did I mention who-"

"No."

"All right." Draco let go the breath he had been holding, the fear falling from him as his shoulders fell from his ears. He had not incriminated himself. Blaise didn't know what he had interrupted. Draco looked over at Blaise's bed. He had already pulled the curtain to.

"Blaise?"

"Hm?"

"Don't tell Boor."

"No," Blaise agreed.

"Goodnight, Blaise."

"Goodnight," the African boy called from behind the curtain. He put out his wandlight and Draco was cast into a darkness, assured at least that he was in Hogwarts, that Blaise was in the room, that Alana was floors above him- and Dumbledore too- and that the Dark Lord was miles away. _Or lurking in the corners of my mind, in my own blood._

His last thought was of Alana, as he had seen her before: asleep, a faint smile playing on her lips, her face shadowed by the lacework of her hair, blissfully unaware of any evil that lurked, that slept beside her, that watched her as her chest rose and fell, trusting.

_A/N: Yes. That's a place to stop I think. I should like to share, because many have asked about this in the past, that I do in fact now know the details of the connection Voldemort forged between himself and Draco. Alas, I cannot tell you yet. The good news? I have a plan for a rewrite of The Deathly Hallows. The bad news? you'll have to wait for my reveal till then. Cheers! And please do review!_

_Yours, Tsona_


	14. A New Chess Board

_A/N: For those who might be returning to this story after a long hiatus in updates, know that I have been updating this story for- gosh!- maybe a half a year or so now. This is the first chapter to exceed the story's previous chapter count and so the first for which alerts will be sent out. Previously, I'd been replacing content only to keep the old reviews and stats. The story has been changed a fair bit. You might want to go back and read the rest first. ;) Cheers to all reading this!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Blaise was awake before he was the next morning. Draco, hearing him shuffling around the room, opened his eyes onto the dimness of firelight through velvet curtains. For several moments, he only lay still, staring up at the dark canopy as if it might explain to him what to do next, what to think. As his eyes adjusted, it only grew greener.

His mattress moaned as he pushed himself up and pushed open the curtain.

Blaise paused at his trunk, his dark eyes finding Draco's almost immediately.

"Did I wake you?"

Draco shrugged, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "It doesn't matter. It's time to get up, I suppose."

"I was trying to be quiet."

"I know. But I can't miss class."

"I suppose not."

"You think I should?"

"I think you have the right to be tired. Mind, I suppose that means I do as well."

They entered the entrance hall from the dungeons some twenty minutes later, both dragging along somewhat and neither too inclined to conversation. Already there was a murmur issuing through the double doors of the Great Hall. Draco looked toward them, the bright light of the enchanted ceiling spilling out onto the flagstones of the entrance hall, and his stomach turned over. He didn't want to face the brightness of the hall. The searing glares of his peers might seem deserved now, but he was half afraid the light might burn him, show him as a dark blot in an otherwise sunny room.

"You coming, Draco?"

Blaise was already several feet ahead of him.

Draco started to shake his head when-

"Draco!"

Alana bolted from between the gilded doors, the light blazing off her, gleaming in her hair. Would her touch burn him now? taint her? He took a step back and she faltered to a stop a foot away.

"What-" She blinked. She looked at him as though he had drawn his wand. "Are you all right?" she asked more quietly. She added, "Are you ill? You were missing all day. Blaise was looking for you. So was I."

Draco looked past her to Blaise, who said, "I figured if anyone would know, it would be your girl." He didn't mention, but Draco wondered if he too was thinking of Draco's earlier accusation:

"_I tried to get him to leave her alone... I stopped him chasing her."_

"_You could try thinking of someone besides yourself!"_

"We were worried sick, Draco," Alana said now, catching his attention again. She looked up at him, eyes wide and earnest as she brushed a swath of hair back behind her ear.

"I'm fine," Draco told her. "Or fine enough. I don't want to talk about it," he added, quietly so that only she would hear him, forestalling any of her questions.

For a moment, he thought she would object. She raised her chin, raised her eyes- but then she nodded. "All right," she said. "But when you are ready to talk about it-"

"You'll be the first I'll tell," Draco promised. He looked at her then, as her face relaxed, as a smile began to break through her worry for him, brightening her cheeks, and making her look terribly pretty. He remembered the argument of the night before:

"_You keep away from her or-" _

"_You'll have no more reason to deny me, will you? You can't be with her all the time."_

And Snape: _"I do, as a matter of fact, believe those dreams are real."_

"_I'll stay with her. I'll keep her safe,"_ Draco had said. And he had meant it. He closed the distance between them. She melted into him without hesitation as his arms circled her. He held her carefully, his hands barely brushing her back, but she came to him all the same and he was glad. His touch must not hurt her- physically at least. She was all soft curves against him and heat, and though he still could not name the fragrance she wore, it was quickly becoming familiar. It made him smile. Her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his face, he breathed it in, letting his eyes close. He could not let her go, would not let her be hurt by all this. If he hurt her in any way-

Vaguely, he heard footsteps and looked up to see Blaise retreating tactfully into the Great Hall. "We should go," Draco said, rising from the embrace and catching her hand, pressing his palm against hers. "Breakfast."

Her fingers closed over his, warm, soft, and he smiled to himself. "We were saving you a seat," Alana said. He noticed the faint dreaminess to her smile, in her gaze, but didn't comment, as she turned and led the way back to the Gryffindor table.

With Alana's hand in his, he caught a glint of silver off the dark cloud that he felt now enveloped him, marked him as what he was, what the Dark Lord had made him. For the first time, Alana truly needed him. She may not know it- and he didn't want to tell her- but the Dark Lord had made it clear last night that she was in danger, as much as Draco ever was. Draco alone could protect her, and would protect her. She needed him as he needed her and he did need her. His fingers tightened on hers and she returned the squeeze with a smile, glancing back over her shoulder with half-closed eyes.

"Hello, Draco," Kari grinned as he and Alana slid into seats side-by-side at the Gryffindor bench.

Draco smiled back, even smiled at Ginny, who was sitting on Alana's other side and only offered him a curt nod.

They said goodbye in the entrance hall. Alana was hurrying away as Muggle Studies was at the top of one of the towers so their kiss, the squeeze she gave his hand had to be brief. Draco had wondered at first how he felt about having a girlfriend who was interested in studying Muggles, but decided without much deliberation that it didn't bother him, much as it would disgrace his Malfoy blood. As Draco stood watching her up the stairs, her hair bouncing against her back and glittering in the sunlight, he thought he might have even been able to bring himself to shake a Muggle's hand- if Alana asked him to.

"She's a nice girl."

Draco started and turned to find that Blaise had come up beside him, was watching Alana too.

"She didn't bat an eye when I called out to her, didn't mind that I didn't know her name, that I'm from Slytherin and she's in Gryffindor. Her friends didn't seem at all pleased, though, especially that Weasley girl." Blaise's sharp eyes cut to Draco.

"Ginerva disapproves of me. She tolerates me now and that's an improvement," Draco explained as he started toward the front doors and Herbology, Blaise falling into step beside him, "but it's for Alana's sake only."

Blaise looked at him sidelong. "She said some not very nice things when I told your girl you were missing."

"Anything creative?" Draco wondered.

Blaise shook his head. "She told me to check if there was a Death Eaters' meeting."

Draco frowned.

"That other girl- the short-haired one- started chiding her- couldn't hear what she said, but Weasley looked very sour. I think I worried your girl and I'm sorry about that, but-"

As Draco's eyes went toward Blaise, Blaise's own swung away to stare out over the trees, staring with an intensity that suggested he could see something there that Draco couldn't. _But what?_ Draco wanted to know, picking up on Blaise's incomplete thought. Draco turned his gaze down, watching his feet over the grass, and tried to keep suspicion from his mind. The dew made the grass slippery and it was as good an excuse as any to avoid Blaise's eyes, under which he was beginning to feel uncomfortable, interrogated. "I wish you'd told me last night," Draco confessed.

"You were in no mood to hear it," Blaise reminded. "Argued on every point. Basically told me to shove it."

Draco looked sideways at Blaise, but the taller boy had already trained his gaze too on the turf. The apology jumped to Draco's tongue but the explanation was not far behind and Draco, not willing to speak yet to any of that, sealed his lips, was glad when Blaise pushed open the greenhouse door and stalked inside. The class offered an excuse not to talk as they worked with two sour Ravenclaws on a single plant. But Draco had to wonder, and tried to catch Blaise unawares, to see if his eyes would betray it: Did Blaise suspect? How much had he really heard- how much had Draco said last night?

Alana met him in the entrance hall, had waited as he climbed the slope back to the front doors; Blaise, several yards ahead, stalked past Alana without looking at her. She took Draco's hands in hers. Neither Alana nor Draco said anything, but Alana began to tow him along toward lunch and Draco got the feeling that she just wanted to feel his skin against hers, his pulse beating in time to hers. And he didn't mind at all.

"Mr. Malfoy."

He started and Alana stopped, looking first at him, then beyond him. She cocked her head, like a curious sparrow. Draco followed her gaze.

Professor Dumbledore was coming down the stairs, the sun gleaming off his hair and glasses, obscuring his eyes.

"Good day to you, Miss O'Toule."

"Sir," she returned, still looking deeply puzzled.

"I wonder, would you permit me to steal this young man's attentions from you for a little while?"

Alana looked at Draco, her hand tight on his. There was a touch of concern in her glance. "Is he in trouble, sir?" Alana asked Dumbledore.

"No trouble, no," Dumbledore smiled. He turned his gaze then on Draco instead. Nearer now, the glare was gone from the spectacles, revealing the blue eyes. His gaze seemed to strip Draco bare; he had to fight to keep from wincing away from it.

Draco looked to Alana, who after a last squeeze and smile, slipped her hand from his. "Er, sure," he said, but he didn't want to comply. The removal of Alana's hand left his cold, and he buried it quickly in folded arms. If Blaise suspected, had he gone to Dumbledore? Would he be asked to give an account now? Would he be given the chance?

"I thank you," Dumbledore said, and his statement, by his turning head, seemed to include them both. "Shall we?" he added to Draco.

"I'll see you later," Draco promised before hastening to walk beside the headmaster. The other students, even the professors, that passed them were all going the other direction, which Draco thought, ruled out any possibility that he was being called before the staff. No matter what Dumbledore had said, he could not rid himself of the idea that some quality or action of his must at last have been noticed, that he was about to be asked to give a reckoning of it.

When they had reached the third floor and left all the crowd below them, Dumbledore asked, "How long has it been since we last met?"

"I don't know," Draco said honestly. "A while, I guess. A few weeks?" It felt longer. So much had happened to him. He had learned so much in the time between. Had all of that really happened only yesterday?

"A while," Dumbledore agreed.

He did not speak again till he gave his gargoyle the password, and not to Draco until they were closeted in his brightly lit study, where the previous headmasters and -mistresses slept.

"Sit down," he said as he had before.

Draco obeyed, perched himself on the edge of the cushion as Dumbledore himself settled into his allotted place behind the desk. The wizened hands steepled before him, and over the long fingers, the bright eyes observed Draco- neutrally, Draco thought with some relief if with confusion, if his fear lingered still.

"Why did you want to see me, sir?" Draco ventured.

"Many reasons."

Draco waited but no more answer came.

"I am told," the headmaster said at length, "that you were not to be found yesterday."

Draco recollected the skipped classes, but the guilt of this did little to upset him. It was a lesser fault than he had expected to be asked to confront. "Yes, sir. I was in my dorm," he added, thinking this would be the next question.

"Not all day."

"And the kitchens," Draco amended.

"For any particular reason?"

Draco pressed his lips together in a tight line, his hands as tight on the edge of his seat. This was the charge he had hoped would be missed, the one he did not want to answer.

"I have a guess, Draco."

Still Draco said nothing, loathe to give him any hint.

"Professor Snape talked to you yesterday."

The words of yesterday were still too near the forefront of his mind, too readily called forward. _"He has also tied the two of you together more securely, through other enchantments, stronger and more complex." "As precious as a wand, as powerful, and as useful. His second. His shield. His son." _Draco sat stiff and silent in his seat, but already he was preparing to leap, his eyes on the headmaster's hands, now crossed on the desk. If he made any move for his wand... But what if he'd already acted? What if the Aurors were on their way?

"He sought to arm you, Draco, with what little knowledge he has- what little knowledge anyone but Lord Voldemort himself has, he assures me."

Briefly, as he flinched, Draco was stung with anger at the idea that Snape should mention their conversation to Dumbledore at all, but it died in a heartbeat that sent cold fear through him, stiffening his joints as if they prepared for death already. Dumbledore did know then. Or- "Did-" The word came out a hoarse whisper. Draco swallowed and tried again. "Did he tell you-"

"He told me before he told you. He told me years ago. Though, I do not believe, with the same detail. That is why I asked him to speak to you, rather than speak to you myself. I thought it best that you were given all you could be. I asked him to look for an opportunity."

"But- It- Why?"

"We spoke last time, Draco, about how you can combat him."

"We did," Draco remembered quietly.

"Do you think I was wrong? To ask Professor Snape to speak to you?"

Draco did not lift his eyes to the headmaster, but kept his gaze trained on his own intertwined fingers. Did he? Could he blame Snape for enlightening him? The knowledge was like a poison that burned inside of him, but it had always been there. Was it better to know about it or to remain ignorant, though it might course through him unfelt, still damaging his self? Could he really expect such a connection to remain dormant- if ever it was? Could he expect to find the right antidote if he didn't know the poison? _"You know now. It was, perhaps, foolish of me to expect that I could keep it from you." "Then why didn't you tell me?"_

"I know now," Draco echoed at length, "I suppose it doesn't matter whether I ought to know or not. But sir-" He looked up to see Dumbledore watching him with some concern. "What now? What's the remedy? What do I do with it now that I know?" But even as he spoke, he remembered something his father had said to him, after keeping him hours in a stiff, wooden chair, playing game after game of wizards' chess. _"In war- as in chess- to form a strategy one must know not only their opponent, but also all the pieces involved, how the different pieces work together. You lose, Draco, because you have no strategy. Now- again." _"I have to use it against him, don't I?"

Draco thought he saw Dumbledore's mustache quiver. "You could."

"How?"

"That, Draco, I think is a question better left to yourself. Only you know the extent of the connection between you, all of its symptoms."

"But it's just-" Draco couldn't quite make himself pronounce the curse evil. Even now he remembered what the Dark Lord had been to him, the odd affection that had seemed to move his hands across Draco's cheeks, that made him spare Draco when he ought to have been killed. And that curse was Draco- or in him- or of him. If the connection was evil, did that make Draco so? He dropped his eyes to hide these thoughts- dangerous thoughts. "He's got me bound from head to foot, it feels." The confession was so quiet he wasn't sure Dumbledore would hear him. "How can I turn that against him? How can I when I don't even know if I can move with-" He bit back the rest of the question, hardly daring to think it: _When I don't know if I can even move without it- without him. _ Break so strong a curse, one that had bound him so long, and what would become of Draco? Death was not even his worst fear. His worst fear was what emptiness he might feel if he did escape, that he needed the Dark Lord there, close as a conscience. Draco felt sick at the thought.

"Draco, there is another question I must ask."

Draco raised his head, almost warily.

"Have you given any thought to the summer holidays?"

"Oh. No," he said honestly. He had been absorbed in catching up with life here- with homework, making slow friends, wading through the mire he had become entrenched in and fearing he followed hinkypunks' lights to try and find a way out.

"I fear you won't be able to return to Malfoy Manor this coming break."

"No." Draco wasn't even sure he'd miss the drafty castle. There had been little to amuse or comfort him there since Dobby had been set free.

"Some other wizarding family must be found to take you in, do you agree?"

Maybe Alana's? Draco agreed.

"I was thinking perhaps-"

xxxx

"_The Weasleys_, Gryff! He wants to send me away to live with the _Weasleys_!"

"I honestly don't see what you're complaining about."

"Don't see-" Draco sputtered, jerking to a stop on the stairs. Alana kept climbing.

"No, I don't," she told him calmly, though as she turned around her expression and posture were more of weariness. "The Weasleys are wonderful people and if you'd only-"

"Wonderful to you maybe," Draco allowed, darting up the few steps to meet her on the same stair. "They _hate_ me, Gryff. And I hate them," he added mutinously.

"They don't hate-"

"They do. You like Ginerva. But haven't you noticed that she won't even say a civil word to me? And that's nothing compared to her brother, Ronald. He and I are about this far-" Draco held up his thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart "-from beating out one another's brains with the nearest candlestick."

Alana's eyes narrowed in a glare.

"All right," Draco amended, "this far," and he widened that centimeter to an inch. "I'll be murdered there, Gryff!"

"Murdered?" And Alana actually laughed.

Draco frowned. "I'm glad you can face my death with such a light heart."

"Oh Draco, you don't honestly think-"

"I wouldn't rule it out."

"Well, I would. I know the Weasleys."

"You know Ginny."

"And Ron. And I know the twins- Fred and George. And I've met the next oldest one- er... What's his name?"

"Peter, I think," Draco muttered.

"He at least certainly isn't going to let anyone in his family break the law, not if he's anything like he used to be. And it's more than that, the Weasleys-"

"But he never really could control any of them. Certainly not those troublesome twins. And Ronald was running all over the place those first two years, smashing rules to bits with Potter."

"Look, Draco, just-" Alana sighed "-give them a chance."

"You don't get it, Gryff!" he cried, climbing a couple steps, and turning to look down at her. "Blaise is upset with me again. I don't know that I can do this, Alana. I don't think I know how to keep more than one friend. How can Dumbledore possibly expect me to entertain nine Weasleys?"

Alana mounted a step. "You had to learn to have one friend, Draco- don't you remember? Give yourself time. You'll have to learn and if you have to learn-"

"The Weasleys are the worst people for me to try with."

"They'll be the best, I think. And besides, I think you've kept two this whole time."

"You and who?"

"Dobby."

"Dobby doesn't count. He's more than a friend."

"So maybe try thinking of the Weasleys of more than friends. You'll be living with them after all. They'll be more like family."

Draco blanched. He didn't like to think what his father would have said to that.

"I really think everything will be all right- better than all right. Dumbledore wouldn't send you there if he thought you'd be in danger- if he thought you'd be unhappy."

"He would if he thought it would be good for me."

"And it will be good for you."

"Thanks," he muttered sourly.

"Oh, you know what I mean. What do you have against the Weasleys really, anyway? It can't be just that they're Gryffindors because I-"

"It's not that they're Gryffindors. It's that they're Weasleys. And I'm a Malfoy."

Alana frowned. "So if my surname were Weasley-"

Draco threw up his hands to fend off the thought. "Ugh. Don't even, Gryff. I don't want to even imagine."

"You'd hate me too?" she finished mercilessly.

Draco dropped his eyes, shuffled down a step, still one stair above her. "I'd have avoided you, probably, like I do them," he admitted, barely daring to breathe out the confession. "Like all Malfoys do them. Like we always have done. And you'd have avoided me."

"But why?"

Draco looked up at her then, met her stare. "It just isn't done. It'd be a stain of dishonor, treason to my family-"

"Whom," Alana pointed out, "you dislike too."

"It's a blood feud, Gryff. It's been eons since any Malfoy was civil to a Weasley- or any Weasley civil to a Malfoy. Since the days of witch-burnings if not before. I know part of it was Clement Weasley's counter-campaign to Brutus Malfoy's campaign for cleansing the wizarding world and attacking the Muggles as brutally as we were being attacked..."

"But Draco, you don't believe in any of that stuff," she wailed.

He missed a beat, wondering. "No."

Alana's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then you have the chance to set this right," she said firmly. "Stop associating yourself with that altogether."

"I'll still be a Malfoy by blood, Gryff."

She sighed then heavily, gave up another stair. Again she said, "Just give them a chance, Draco."

"I'll have to," he sighed, stepping down to meet her. Her hand rose to meet his at the slightest invitation, and their fingers intwined. "I told Dumbledore I'd let him introduce me. He's setting up a meeting."

_A/N: Yikes! So I just realized it has been more than six months since my last update. So I feel I owe you all an apology. This past semester was one of the worst I have ever had in terms of workload, in terms of my mental and physical ability to cope with that work. Please do not be too cruel to me. The next few updates will come quickly. Beyond the end of January, I cannot make promises, but I hope to be finished with this novel by then; I think I will be. Knock on wood. Cheers, all, and thank you for you mercy.  
Yours forever, Tsona_


	15. Seeing Red Hair

Weeks passed and still Draco heard nothing from Dumbledore. He tried to do as he, as Alana advised. He watched the Weasley children and tried to wipe away the film of prejudice that clouded his vision, that made his heart pump harder in anger, his fingers itch for his wand. All he saw was red hair.

Blood. It was in his blood. It had to be. Something in his genetic makeup caused the lingering rift between him and the Weasleys. Or maybe it wasn't genetic. Maybe it was... whatever his connection with the Dark Lord could be classified as, the darkness inside of him, the dark power that longed to burst forth, that he fought down, smothered into submission, that made his heart race, and his blood fire. He did not hear again from the Dark Lord, but it made him no less fretful. He could not decide yet whether the Dark Lord's presence or his absence was more worrying. If he wasn't trying to persuade Draco to return to him, particularly now that Draco knew what he had done, what was he doing? Was he only letting Draco consider the offers he'd made? Did he think Draco would change his mind?

"Draco."

He jumped and looked around, wide-eyed.

Alana lay a hand on his. "You've barely eaten."

"I'm not-"

"You've barely eaten for days. Of course you're hungry."

Draco frowned.

"This isn't still about the Weasleys, is it?"

Draco hesitated. He looked down the length of the Gryffindor table. He and Alana sat alone at the end. Ginny was laughing with Ron, Potter, Granger, Kari, and Longbottom halfway down. "No. Not just. It's complicated, Gryff."

"And I'll give you all the time you need to explain. Just-"

"No."

He relented of his sharp tone when she started back.

"It's just... I can't, Gryff. I just can't. You wouldn't understand." _You'd hate me if you knew._

"But I _want_ to understand. Help me."

"There's no help for it, Gryff. You'd have had to have been raised as I was. And I wouldn't wish that on you. Not ever." She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. "I promised you that you'd be first to know, Gryff, and I meant it. But-"

"But it's eating away at you. Maybe if you just talked-"

"Talking won't help this," he said, dropping his gaze. "But when I've worked it out, when I know, I'll tell you, I will."

Alana sighed. "I just worry about you."

xxxx

O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, and exams were all swiftly approaching. The professors' attitudes had at last enflamed the students too. Stress hovered like a cloud against the low ceiling of the Slytherin common room, made the room seem darker than usual, more enclosed, and made Draco even less willing to spend any time there. The students were more likely to lash out than ever and he did not like to present an appealing target.

He coaxed Alana out into the sunshine with him and, laden with bags filled with books, they settled themselves below the low branches of the beech tree that had sheltered them before.

The following Sunday was bright as its name and the air was warm. June was just around the corner. Alana was splayed out on the blanket she had brought, her book open before her, but her gaze was for the glittering lake. Draco had become distracted with the twinkle that the sunlight brought to her hair.

"What'll you be doing over the summer?" he wondered.

"Hm?" Alana stirred herself, rolled over onto her side with a slow, lazy smile.

"What are you doing over the summer?"

"Oh," she said, "I don't know. I'll probably spend some time helping Mum at her plant shop, spend time with friends. Kari usually spends a lot of time with her grandfather over the summer. She invites me to come sometimes. Mr. Ollivander has a lot of interesting things around his apartment and great stories..."

"Will you have time to see me?"

Alana laughed. "I think I could find time enough. We're on holiday after all."

Draco smiled.

Alana turned her gaze back out over the lake. "Who's that?"

Draco followed her finger. A dark-robed figure was making his way across the lawns, pacing around the lake's bank without even a glance at the sparkling water.

"Is that-"

"Snape," Draco confirmed. Few others would wear long-sleeved black robes in this weather, but it was his stride that betrayed him most.

"Wonder what he wants..."

The two of them, completely distracted from their work, watched the professor, but still started when he, spotting them, began to stalk their direction.

"You don't think he's coming to tell us off, do you?" Alana asked, her fingers entwining in Draco's.

Professor Snape was upon them before Draco could reply. Draco looked up into his sallow, frowning face with a pounding heart. He did not stand; he did not trust his legs. He had not been almost alone with Snape since the professor had told him what he was. Draco shivered in a breeze that might have been cool.

"Draco."

"Sir."

He paid Alana no mind. "The headmaster would like to see you."

"The-" Draco looked over his shoulder to exchange a look with Alana, whose fingers loosened on his. "All right," he said, hastily shoving his book back into his bag. Not lifting his eyes to the professor, he asked as nonchalantly as he dared, "Did he say why?"

"Weasley's here." It was a sneer, cold and fierce.

Alana squeezed his hand briefly as he made to stand and whispered, "Go. Don't worry. Just-"

But Draco was on his feet and Snape strode off without another word or backward glance.

"It'll be all right," Alana pressed. "Just tell them the truth."

Draco tried to smile at her, managed a nod, and hurried after Snape, his books seeming far heavier now than they had been several hours earlier when he and Alana had left the castle.

Snape said nothing to him, nor did he turn to look at him till they were well-out of earshot of Alana or any of the other students who were taking advantage of the approaching June. Then, keeping his eyes forward and moving his mouth very little, he said, "The Dark Lord saw you."

It was not a question, but Draco still felt that the cold silence needed filling. "Er, yeah," he said, dropping his eyes to the grass, "he did."

Snape's eyes flew to Draco, so sharp that Draco felt the stare through his bowed head. "And?"

Images floated in front of Draco's vision. The Dark Lord's cool, glowing gaze out of the dark shadows of the dimly-lit office. The eyes blazing, greedy, the hand tight around his wrist, holding him close, the hiss of his breath. The whisper, _"It need not all be vengeance. What can I get you, Draco? Tell me how to persuade you. I could ensure her safety, if only-"_

"I don't know," Draco choked, still not daring to lift his eyes from his feet. "If I thought- If he-" Draco glanced back the way they had come. Alana was only a patch of color beneath the beech's shade. "Can I do it alone? Can he-" Draco's gaze flew suddenly to the professor's. "What would you do?"

Snape did not answer. His eyes narrowed. "What would I do?"

"Don't lie. I know you saw. I know you used Legilimency. You know what I'm facing."

Snape looked away. "Maybe I did. But it is not my place to make decisions for you."

"You're impossible sometimes," Draco spat, hurrying forward toward the steps to the castle. Stuck by an idea, "All right," he said, and stopped and turned slowly to face Snape. "What if I asked your opinion? As his-" He stumbled over the title he wouldn't speak. "As a Death-"

"Silence!" Snape snarled. The word rang between them, both frozen now, chess pieces facing one another. His snarl turned to a hiss, "You might be his second, Draco, but here, at Hogwarts, I am still your professor. And it would be foolish of you in either role to reveal-" Snape cut his eyes away, looking for eavesdroppers, perhaps, who might have caught his unspoken meaning. Turning back to Draco, he dropped his voice even lower, warned, "Do not let this get to your head. Particularly if you think you will not even accept the-"

"You think I shouldn't accept then?"

Snape glared, silent. "No."

Draco stared. A breeze slithered past him, past them both.

"I would not go back, if that is what you are asking. If you are asking me whether I would choose between him and-" Snape stopped. He did not look back toward the beech, but Draco thought-

Draco hesitated. "Do you approve then? Of..."

"You need my approval?"

"No," Draco said, "but it would be nice to know someone-"

"I don't approve," Snape said. "But I won't judge you for it either. If she does not hurt you..."

Draco's eyes widened with surprise. "She hurt me?"

Snape's frown deepened so that he looked suddenly a great deal older. He lurched forward again, swept past Draco, frozen at the foot of the steps. "They're waiting" he spat.

Draco, puzzling over Snape's meaning, followed the professor into the castle, which seemed dim after the brilliance of the approaching summer, up flights of stairs, and along the passage to the ugly stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.

Snape gave the guardian the password and then turned back to Draco as the wall behind him split. "He's waiting for you upstairs," he said. "Go on," he urged, shoving Draco forward toward the rotating staircase.

Draco resignedly mounted the steps and was carried upward. He'd not traveled six stairs' widths, however, when he heard Snape call, "Draco." He turned. The professor's mouth was open, but after a moment, he shook his head, and Draco watched him stalk away, his cloak billowing.

Then the wall sealed itself with an awful _thud_.

Draco winced. Dumbledore and Weasley too would know he was on his way. What was Weasley thinking? What was _he_ thinking? Why had he agreed to this? Begging Dumbledore for help was one thing. For a Malfoy to abandon himself to the goodwill of a Weasley- a clan of Weasleys was suicide.

But then he was in front of the door and the brass knocker waited for him. With icy dread in his stomach, he took up the handle.

"Enter," Dumbledore called.

This was just as before. Draco pushed open the door onto the same office, the same glittering instruments, the portraits snoozing on the walls. Dumbledore was still behind his intricately carved desk. But the chair before it was not empty. It was occupied by a man whose receding, still brilliantly red hairline was visible even from behind, with his head tilted up to appear engrossed in the study of a corpulent red-nosed man whose painting was above Dumbledore's desk.

"Please, Draco," Dumbledore said, and Draco left off his study of Mr. Weasley. "Come in. I'll conjure a seat." He did so with a twiddle of his wand. The deep-cushioned, winged armchair fell beside Mr. Weasley's. The thud of the chair made Mr. Weasley jump and look very briefly around.

Draco crept uncertainly forward, his eyes still on Mr. Weasley. He wanted some sign that it was safe to approach and Mr. Weasley did not seem to be willing to give him any. He seemed to be trying resolutely to ignore him.

Dumbledore was frowning, Draco noticed as he perched on the edge of the chair. Was he perhaps regretting this meeting too?

"Draco, I would like you to meet Arthur Weasley. Arthur-"

Arthur Weasley turned to Draco, but his glasses did not shield Draco from the ice of his glare as he nodded and Draco muttered a foolish, "Hello."

The two of them had met before, of course. Draco remembered rather vividly that Mr. Weasley had attacked Draco's father once almost four years ago in Flourish and Blotts. Draco had backed away from the brawl, hidden behind the cawing Weasley children.

"You both know, of course, why I've asked you here. Draco needs a place to spend the summer."

Dumbledore paused. Mr. Weasley said nothing and Draco looked down at his feet, tried not to let his mounting fears, the tension in the room overwhelm him. This was what he felt in the Slytherin common room. This was why he avoided the dungeons. Why should he give himself over to a summer of this?

"Draco-"

Draco looked up to meet the professor's gaze.

"I've just been explaining to Arthur the, ah, circumstances."

How much about the circumstances? What did Mr. Weasley now know? What could he do with that knowledge? Draco looked quickly at the redheaded man, but Mr. Weasley was avoiding his gaze again, choosing to fix his eyes this time out one of the wide windows of Dumbledore's study. Draco, following his gaze, could just see the Quidditch pitch. Gryffindor had beaten Ravenclaw on that pitch not two days ago. Alana had told him briefly about the game. Draco had decided his day would be better spent studying indoors than with the disgruntled Slytherins in the stands. He did not dare sit with Alana and the Gryffindors during matches. Anti-Slytherin feeling ran too high. Mr. Weasley's son Ronald had been Gryffindor's hero as Keeper.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore continued, "you'd like to help me to fill in any-"

Draco's widened eyes snapped back to the professor.

"Or perhaps not."

"What proof can you offer us, then?"

It was the first time Mr. Weasley had spoken and Draco was caught off guard. His gaze was still determinedly fixed out the window. Perhaps Draco had imagined...

"Excuse me? Did you say-"

"What proof," Mr. Weasley said carefully, "can you offer me and my family that you've truly left the Death Eaters?"

_He sounds exactly like Ron. Like Potter. But what was I expecting?_

"Arthur, please-"

"No," Draco said. He lifted his gaze to meet Mr. Weasley's, like ice- hard and cold. "He's right, Professor."

"Draco-"

"I can't prove anything to you, Mr. Weasley. Professor Dumbledore said he explained the situation to you. Did you tell him what I did when I came back?" he asked the headmaster.

Dumbledore nodded.

"If you won't take Professor Dumbledore's word, I know you won't believe anything I say. Your daughter won't trust me either, despite every proof I've been able to offer her friends."

"But if Ginny, who's friends with-"

"But I get it," Draco continued, calmly interrupting Mr. Weasley's protest. "I'm a Malfoy. And what's the word of a Malfoy to a Weasley?"

"Arthur, can't you-"

"He won't trust me, sir."

"Draco, you have to have somewhere to-"

"I never hoped, Professor. I'll say only this," he conceded, looking again toward Mr. Weasley, who was watching this exchange through narrowed eyes. "I'm not my father. I may look like him, but..." Draco dropped his eyes again. "If you have some test in mind, tell me; I'll take it. I know taking me in would go against everything- You've no reason to like the idea."

"You almost sound like you want to come," Mr. Weasley sneered.

"Do I have a choice? Where else would you have me go?"

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore-"

"Professor Dumbledore asked you. And," Draco hesitated, looked up to meet the headmaster's considering stare, "I trust him."

The headmaster smiled. The twinkle in his blue eyes was in such contrast to Mr. Weasley's glare.

"You're willing to lower yourself to our level, then?"

Draco managed a weak laugh. "Mr. Weasley, I think I'm starting to see where you and your family have always been better off than I've been."

"I can't promise you anything, you know that."

"Of course." Draco kept his head down to hide the smile that tugged at his mouth.

"But I can talk to Molly. I can talk to the children. They ought to have some say in all this, I think."

Draco's smile sunk and his heart followed. He couldn't imagine any of the Weasley children wanting him for the summer. But he agreed reluctantly, "All right."

"Good, then-" Mr. Weasley stood, hovered awkwardly by his chair.

"Thank you, Arthur."

"Of course, Albus. I'll see you later." He hurried for the door.

Draco called out to stop him. "Mr. Weasley."

He heard a pause in his quick steps.

"Thank you."

Mr. Weasley seemed to miss a beat. "Good luck, Draco." The door closed behind him and Draco and Professor Dumbledore were alone again.

"Maybe you'd better think of a back-up," Draco suggested, eyes still on the floor.

"Oh, I don't think so."

Draco looked up to see Dumbledore smiling and was surprised to feel his heart lighten just a little too.


	16. Confessions

_A/N: The timing on this chapter is really pretty perfect. When I wrote this chapter, I got to put Draco through the stress of exams just as I too was moving toward them. His feelings will be realistic to mine, at least._

_Yours forever, Tsona_

After a frantic week of studying, the fifth and seventh years looked drawn and pale as they sat at the breakfast table. Draco, seated beside Alana at the Gryffindor table, was no exception, for today was to be the first of his O.W.L. tests, a written Charms exam following breakfast, and a practical beginning after lunch.

"Oh come on now," Alana said, snatching Draco's wand hand and pushing it back down. The abused piece of toast, upon which he had been practicing a variety of spells, fell with it and hit his plate. It had been set aflame, then doused in a shower of water, dried in a blast of warm air, made to spin like a top, and finally he had tried to levitate it. "You're going to do fine," Alana said, imploring him with her eyes as well as her warm hand on his own to stop.

"These tests decide my future. If I don't pass... And I've missed almost a full year of- of any _Ministry-approved_ education. How can I possibly-"

"Because you've worked hard these last three months. I know you somehow found time to do some of the catch-up work-"

"_Some_ of the work. I'm not ready."

"Do your best. Besides," Alana said, letting him go to pick up her fork, "Dumbledore likes you. I'm sure if you did absolutely terribly, he'd work something out for you." She turned to him with a bright grin. "Maybe you can take them with me."

"Another year of O.W.L. study? I don't know if I can survive that..."

"But think how prepared you'd be. You'd get O's on everything."

"Maybe..." Draco pushed the eggs Alana had shoveled onto his plate around with his fork before taking a hesitant bite.

Draco was glad of the distraction the post owls provided as they flew suddenly through the lofty windows several awkward minutes later. Alana looked eagerly toward them and Draco followed suit in a lazy manner. He never got post anymore, not since the breach with his parents. Only his mother and Dobby had ever sent him anything. He allowed himself to be distracted by the lopsided descent of an ancient grey owl as Alana tore open a letter delivered to her by one of the Hogwarts owls. The grey flew low over the Gryffindor table. An older student wisely grabbed a milk jug and held it out of reach of the owl's dipping left wing.

"Ouch!"

Draco drew back his hand with a glare at-

One of the Hogwarts owls sat before his plate too, its yellow eyes fixed on him in an irritated way. A loopy scrawl on the front of the envelope at its feet read, _"Draco Malfoy."_

Doubtfully, Draco took it, only reassured that the handwriting resembled neither the Dark Lord's that he had seen neatly scrawled in the margins of books he had been told by him to read nor his father's. The owl took off before he'd even gotten the envelope open.

He was just unfolding the letter when the grey owl crashed before the Weasleys, whom were all sitting together further up the table. Ron swore as he took the envelope from the owl's beak. Ginerva scooped the bird into her arms.

"Poor Errol," he heard Alana mutter as she too looked down the table.

Draco returned his attention to the letter. He read: _"Dear Draco-"_

Ronald Weasley gave a horrified yelp.

"What?" came the synced cries of the Weasley twins, who sat across the table from him.

"Is everyone all right? Is your mum- your dad?" Potter added anxiously.

Ron mutely held out the letter and all three of them put their heads together.

"_Dear Draco,_

_Of course you'd be welcome to stay in our home for the summer. You will have to excuse Arthur's behavior the other day. I admit Dumbledore's request came as something of a shock, but-"_

"You're joking!" Draco heard one of the twins cry with a sinking heart.

"Or insane."

"Harry- wait up."

_Welcome_, Draco scoffed. He read more quickly: _"-but if Dumbledore stands behind you, I don't see why we should raise any objections. We will meet you beyond the barrier of platform nine and-"_

"What is this?"

Potter had come pounding down the aisle and now stood across the table from Draco. He held the letter in his fisted hand. Ron was behind him, looking surly, his ears red.

"Piece of parchment?" Draco suggested.

"Shut up, Malfoy. Just-"

"Give it here, then," Draco said, holding out a hand. "I'll take a look."

Potter glowered.

Draco sighed heavily. "Look, there's no need to be ashamed that you can't read-"

Potter sputtered. "I can read perfectly well!"

"Well then-"

"It's a letter from Mrs. Weasley saying you're coming to spend the summer. _Why are you spending the summer, Malfoy_?"

"I suppose everyone has bouts of masochism now and-"

"It's more than you deserve, Malfoy. The Weasley ought not to- to- How did you possibly get them to agree to-"

"I really don't know, Potter. I'm guessing," Draco said, looking now toward Weasley, "your parents didn't ask your opinion on this like your father said he would?"

"No, they bloody well didn't," Weasley grumbled, eyes narrowing. "You think I'd agree-"

"No, I didn't. That's why I didn't expect this letter," Draco said, holding up his own.

Potter leaned nearer, hands on the table. His eyes were nearly black, shining. "Look, Malfoy. If this has anything to do with your mission from Voldemort-"

Draco recoiled despite himself.

"-I will personally- I'll kill you, Malfoy. When I'm done with Voldemort- or if I get the chance at you first- If you hurt any one of them- so much as one scratch-"

"I'm not going to hurt anyone! And I'm not _spying_! I know what the Weasleys are doing for me, giving me-"

"Quit driveling, Malfoy. It won't work on us. We're on to you."

"Well," Draco said, the fire rising inside him again, "now I'm scared."

"You ought to be," Ron growled.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Strength in numbers."

"That's right," Potter agreed. "There won't be anyone _there_ to fight your battles for you." Here he gave Alana a very dark look. Draco started. He had almost forgotten she was there, but her face was pink and her eyes leveled at Potter in a glare.

Draco quickly returned to Potter, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. He hoped it didn't sound too like a plea. "Leave her out of it, Potter."

"What if I don't want to be left out of it?" Alana spat.

"It doesn't concern you," Draco hastened, voice rising. He couldn't resist glancing toward her. "This- this is just between Potter and me. Just-"

"And me!" Alana and Weasley cried as one.

Draco started. He would have to, he realized, tell Alana soon. She didn't know what she was defending. Maybe if she did... But he didn't dare think about that. At any rate, he couldn't tell her now. Not with Potter and Weasley _anywhere_ nearby. Her hand fell on his and she turned to Potter with a glare.

"Look, Harry-"

"Oh, Alana, don't," Draco moaned.

"-maybe if you'd open your eyes- open your mind for just a second-"

"I'd be as deluded as you?"

"I'm not deluded! I'm-" Alana turned suddenly very red and the words seemed to die in her throat. She turned her eyes to her and Draco's entwined hands. "I think I'm in love."

Draco started and stared.

"Deluded," Potter concluded. "Maybe," he continued, a very wicked grin on his face as he returned his attention to Draco, dismissing Alana, who sat silent and still red, "there's an opportunity here, though. Maybe, I can _prove_ you're his spy with two months without your girlfriend to meddle, without Snape, without Dumbledore." He spat out the last name. "What's he been talking to you about, anyway?"

"Nothing!" Draco said, scared despite himself, his hand tight on Alana's. He wanted time alone with her. He wanted Potter to leave. "Where to spend the summer, that's all. Look, Potter, are you mad at me- or at him?"

"What- I- You. Definitely you."

"Or maybe both of us?"

"I could never- Dumbledore's-"

"Not been talking to you, I know."

"Draco, don't," Alana moaned in her turn.

"You keep your nose out, Malfoy, if you like it where it is."

Ginerva went hurrying past them and Draco saw her meet Hermione Granger at the door, hold a quick few words' conference with her. Granger nodded and the two of them came over.

"Alana," Ginny said, "we should go or we'll be late for class."

"And you," Granger put in, addressing the two boys, "ought not to let this git get to you- not now. We have our exams in minutes. You can't be distracted. Come on," she grabbed Potter's arm. He tried to jerk it from her, but she held on fast, looking annoyed; Draco guessed she put up with this from him often. "I'm drilling you."

Weasley glared as Granger grabbed his wrist and towed him along behind, back to their seats down the table. Draco ducked his head to avoid the fire of his gaze.

"Ginny," Alana breathed.

Draco glanced up and met with Ginny's glare, not unlike her brother's, though brown, not ice blue. "They're right, you know. If you make to hurt any of us-"

"Gin, he won't."

"No. But _if_." She stalked away, throwing back her head so that the red curls bounced on her back, a ripple of fire.

Alana's hand was still in Draco's. He looked at it and then said, "Come on." He pulled her out of her seat and into the Great Hall, stopped her, and grabbed both her arms.

"Did you mean that?" he wanted to know.

"Mean-"

"That you... loved me," he finished in a whisper, his hands falling limply to his sides. How long had it been since he'd heard those words? Who'd said them last? He thought it might have been Athene, but if she had ever said them, she can't have meant them; she had left Hogwarts and told him she didn't want to hear from him again, had returned his letters. He didn't think it had been his mother. He knew it hadn't been his father. He was not sure his father had ever said those words, even in Draco's infancy.

Alana dropped her eyes. Her color rose again. "I think I might."

Draco wanted her to go on, he wanted her to explain, but as the minutes stretched by and she said nothing, he came to realize she would not. It was only when he took her hand that he realized she was trembling. With his other hand he lifted her face. Her eyes were brighter than usual, shining with a sheen of gathering tears. A faint, uncertain smile pulled at her lips before he pressed his mouth against hers. He let his lips linger now, tasting, testing, and her hand came up to his face, touched his cheek in a flash of fire to match the pillar of flame that swirled inside of him, blinding him, deafening him, that heated him from head to foot, that made him reach out to wrap his arms around her, to pull her closer. With shut eyes, they might have been alone. He felt only her in his arms, her hair tangled in his fingers, her lips hot on his, her hand cupping his neck now, and that scorching heat that would soon leave him as nothing; he would float even higher than he did now, ash in the wind as he was left with only what was best, unblemished, untainted, and able to stand that heat. And he wanted to be destroyed- by her, because he knew she wouldn't hurt him, that she would make him-

Alana pulled back. "I have class," she gasped.

"But-"

"I have class. And you have your O.W.L.s. Hermione's right. You need to concentrate. But Draco, later- we need to talk. I want to know..." Her cheeks went pink again, but she was grinning, as if at a joke. She stole one last quick peck of his lips and fled out the front doors with a call of "Good luck!"

Concentrate? How was he supposed to concentrate when she- She loved him. She loved him. Draco smiled as he turned around. The tide of students was coming out of the Great Hall now, rushing off to classes. The fifth years and the seventh years were gathering in the entrance hall, were absorbing Draco into their crowd, but he felt as distant from them as if he were on his Nimbus, off in the clouds. It was the rush of wind in his ears, the thrill of adrenaline that came after a won match.

"Draco?"

Blaise was at his side.

Draco only beamed at him.

xxxx

The Charms written exam brought him back to the earth, but he still mounted his broomstick every so often and more than once had to scratch out a line that made little sense or didn't pertain to the question.

Heads and hands aching, the fifth and seventh years left the Great Hall two hours later. There was an hour to kill before the rest of the school would arrive for lunch and that last thing Draco wanted to see was a book.

"Come on, Blaise," Draco said, finding his friend.

"Where are we going?"

"To stretch our legs," Draco announced, making for the front doors. Alana also happened to be in Herbology.

xxxx

They were near the greenhouses when the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fourth years left them. "Alana!" Draco called, spotting her beside a flash of flame that was Ginny Weasley.

Alana broke away from her friends and fell into Draco's arms, onto his lips.

Blaise was looking away from them when they broke apart. Weasley headed back to the castle, grabbing Kari Ollivander by the arm, with a sound like "_Euch!_"

Draco only smiled down at Alana.

"How were the exams?" Alana asked, grabbing Draco's hand.

"Can I look now?" Blaise interrupted irritably.

Draco chuckled, "Yes, Blaise, you can look. Have you two officially met?"

Blaise shook his head.

"I don't think we have," Alana agreed, "not officially."

Draco handled the introductions as they climbed the hill. Alana smiled at Draco as they mounted the steps. "You're making rapid progress," she announced. "You've already made a third friend."

"Blaise isn't a Weasley."

"Progress," she repeated.

Draco held Alana back as they reached the Great Hall. "Maybe I had better..."

"Sit with her, Draco," Blaise said, looking back over his shoulder and pausing between the jambs.

"You're sure?"

"Just before the O.W.L.s? Any confidence we can borrow, we ought to take." He smiled at Alana. "Nice to officially meet you, Alana."

She smiled back. "See you later, Blaise."

xxxx

The fifth years gathered in the chamber beside the Great Hall after lunch. Draco had not been in this room since his first year. He remembered standing there, sure he was about to be pronounced a Slytherin, sure that for once, he would be able to do something right, that his father would be proud when he followed in his family's footsteps, dreading what would happen if the Hat put him in any other House. Any pride his father had felt was fleeting at best and gone now forever. He frowned at the walls, at their faded tapestries of the building of Hogwarts, of the Founders.

Professor Flitwick came into the chamber with a scroll, maybe the same scroll McGonagall had used at their Sorting, and read off the first four names. The four students were led out of the chamber.

The fifth years practiced shamelessly in their holding cell. The room was filled with the whispers of incantations. They washed over Draco like the sounds of the sea out his bedroom window. Would he ever see that bedroom again? Did he mind?

"Malfoy."

Draco started and turned to find Potter there, with Weasley behind him. Potter's eyes were dark with anger, narrowed with contempt; Draco returned the look, his own anger returning at the sight of him. Granger hung back, biting her lip. "What, Potter? Did you come up with some brilliant insult you ought to have used at breakfast?"

The cadence of the whispers changed. Now there was a slight fear in the sough of the room. Draco felt it pass him like a breeze tasting of ozone, of lightning off the coast. People backed away from them. Blaise backed away from him with a moan of, "Draco, not now. Not here. We'll be in so much trouble if-"

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Potter sneered.

"I've been called worse. By you, even," Draco returned.

"Oh, I've other names for you too."

"But this one first: Why am I an idiot this time?"

"There's no one here. No one to see what we do to-"

"Harry," Macmillan the Hufflepuff prefect called, coming forward with his badge on his chest, "the whole class is here almost and I, at least-"

"Don't like this git either," Potter said, looking back at Macmillan, "do you, Ernie?"

"Of course not, but I would have to report you, Harry."

"But if we _could_ get him on his own, where no one could see-"

The door opened and Flitwick returned. His eyes swept over the scene. "Problem, boys?"

"It's under control, sir," Macmillan assured him.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Flitwick nodded and led out the next four students.

"Harry, come on. Not now," Granger whimpered from the other side of the room.

Potter ignored her. "Just know, Malfoy, that I don't trust you-"

"I've known that for_ years_, Potter."

"-and one day I'll prove I'm right."

"By making empty threats? By calling me names?"

"One day there won't be anyone to stop me and then-"

"Enough, Harry," Macmillan snapped. "Let him go."

Draco was still seething when he was called forward by Flitwick and was drilled by Professor Marchbanks, an ancient witch whom he knew worked at the Ministry; his father had mentioned her before; she was a staunch supporter of Dumbledore's unconventional ways.

Potter came into the hall as Draco was levitating a wineglass for Marchbanks. Draco turned at the sound of Potter's name and his eyes narrowed in a fierce glare. The wineglass fell and shattered. His ire was only raised when Potter turned away to hide a smirk.

"Git," Draco muttered.

"What was that?" said sharp Professor Marchbanks.

"I said I'm sorry about the glass, Professor," Draco amended and he fixed it with a muttered charm.

_A/N: Hoorah! I thought I had better apologize, friends, for the delay. This is the first post I am making from London. I'm in London! If things come slowly for a while (till May), know that it's because I am having a brilliant time and learning loads, seeing loads, and that it will probably all serve to make these fanfics more authentically British. All that being said, this chapter is not perfect and I must apologize for that too. There's one paragraph I have hammered into so many different shapes that I finally decided it was best to leave it to your own imagination. If you can spot this paragraph and if you have any ideas for its betterment, please do let me know; I'd love to hear them; that's how I learn._

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	17. Another War Begins

Draco turned sixteen as he stood with a cluster of fifth years outside of the greenhouses, waiting for his name to be called and to be brought forward to take his Herbology practical. He had spared little thought for the ill-timing of the O.W.L.s to fall over his birthday. His birthdays had never really been grandly celebrated. The friends he'd thought he had in Slytherin had fawned over him more than usual, he and Crabbe and Goyle ate their way gloatingly in the common room through the box of sweets that accompanied his usually very expensive gift. None of that was going to happen this year; if Blaise remembered, he said nothing about it, and nor did Alana at either meal. It seemed his birthday this year would be less an empty ceremony than no ceremony at all.

xxxx

"Tired?" Alana asked when she found him at the foot of the marble staircase on her way to dinner. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow and Draco had brought _Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ up from the dungeons to accompany his wait, but had not actually opened the book. He waited because he didn't dare go to the Gryffindor table alone.

"It feels like I've studied my mind into a puddle."

"Come on." She reached down for his hand and pulled him to his feet with a bright smile. But she did not lead him to the Great Hall. She pulled him down a staircase to their left.

"The kitchens?"

"Mmhm. You need a break."

Draco smiled to himself.

"Blaise?" Draco started when he saw the African boy gazing curiously at the oil painting that marked the entrance to the kitchens. "You invited Blaise?" Draco had thought she was leading him down to their secret room, where they could be alone to talk, or to kiss and embrace without interruption, without others staring or trying to pull them apart.

"Mmhm."

Blaise had turned at the sound of his name and waited for them to draw near. "What's this about?" he asked Alana.

"I sent him a note this afternoon," Alana explained to Draco. "And now you may as well both know, Dobby sent me a note this morning."

"He-"

"Who?"

But Alana reached up to tickle the pear and pulled the door open onto the strong aromas of the house-elves' cooking and onto the commotion of clattering plates and pots and serving spoons, which drowned their hurrying feet.

"Master Draco! Miss! And sir too!" Dobby cried flinging himself forward and only sparing a bewildered Blaise, who had followed them across the threshold and was gazing curiously around, a glance before wrapping himself around Draco's middle. "Happy birthday, sir!"

"Oh." Draco looked around at Alana, glanced at Blaise. "That's what this is about."

"It's your birthday?" Blaise asked.

"Master Draco is sixteen today," the elf squeaked. He grabbed Draco's hand and dragged him through the scurrying elves to into the back room.

Alana laughed and followed, saying, "Come on, Blaise."

When they entered the room behind the kitchen it was barely recognizable for the wealth of leftover tinsel that overwhelmed it. Above the mantelpiece, a banner proclaimed, "Happy Birthday, Master Draco!" obviously of the elf's construction.

"We're throwing you a birthday party," Alana explained unnecessarily. "I'm afraid I found out too late to get you anything. You should have said."

"But why? It's not even my seventeenth."

"Master Draco needs to be celebrating and now he is having friends to be celebrating with." His eyes lingered especially on Alana and the sides of his mouth twitched, Draco noticed.

"I think your elf friend's right, Draco," Blaise said. "All this O.W.L. studying, maybe a party would do us good, help us relax." He flopped down into one of the squashy armchairs. "So long as you don't make me play pin-the-tail-on-the-hippogriff or anything stupid like that."

"Pin-the-tail-on-the-hippogriff?"

"Never mind, Draco," Alana said, leading him over to the couch.

The house-elves brought in a tray heavily laden with dishes and the four of them talked as they worked their way through more than half of it. As Blaise said, it was hardly the most raucous of parties, "but maybe that's all for the best. Peace and quiet and relaxation." Draco had rarely seen the African boy more at ease.

The first tray was followed by another with a wide chocolate and raspberry cake, which was so delicious that a half of it disappeared despite their generous dinner portions. It was well past dinnertime when the house-elves came to clear their plates away, when Alana sat leaning her back against Draco's side with a mug of mint tea between her hands (pudding had been followed by a tea chest). Draco himself was feeling more relaxed than he had for weeks and let his fingers run the length of Alana's arm, warm through the thin cotton of her shirt.

Blaise finished off his mug of Dobby's hot chocolate and looking at the pair of them said, "I think I've stayed long enough." He scrambled to his feet. "Have a nice night. No," he added to Dobby as the elf scurried forward, "I can find my own way out."

When Draco returned to the dorm several hours later, there was a large pile of sweets on Blaise's bedside table. The elves had all been asleep when Draco left; apparently, they had not been when Blaise left.

xxxx

The memory of the birthday party carried Draco through the week. The day of their final O.W.L. was lighter than the others. Not even the Ministry of Magic could dream up a practical exam for History of Magic and so the fifth years were allowed to sleep in and devote the afternoon to the written test instead. Draco, who actually enjoyed History of Magic, felt rather confident as he scribbled answers to questions about rebellions, meetings of the International Confederation of Wizards and Wizengamot, and past Ministers of Magic. He glanced up once or twice to see his classmates tugging at their hair, massaging sore heads and hands.

"NO!"

Draco jumped, blotting his answer, as did a number of those around him. He looked over his shoulder. Potter was on the floor, curled on the ground, with his hands pressed against his head.

Professor Tofty hurried between the desks. "Nothing to worry about, back to work, all of you."

Draco, having spent four years in Potter's company, thought that it was likely something they should all be worried about. He looked around uncomfortably and saw worried expressions to mirror his own on the faces of his classmates.

"Potter," Professor Tofty said, bending over Potter and trying to pry his hands from his head.

"No," Potter moaned again.

Weasley started to stand, and Granger called, "Professor, he- Dumbledore- Dumbledore will want to-"

"Yes, yes," Tofty muttered, "maybe Dumbledore should... Come on, then, Potter," he said. He had managed to remove Potter's hands from his face, and Potter was staring blankly up at him. He had stirred at Dumbledore's name. "Up you get."

"Dumbledore!" Potter panted, scrambling to his feet. He was visibly shaking, his forehead looked wet, shining with sweat.

Professor Marchbanks was marching up the aisles now, trying to tell the students to get back to work, reminding them of the time limit, rapping the desks of a few students who were using the distraction Potter was causing to look at others' answers.

"I need to see Dumbledore."

"You need the hospital wing, Potter. Come on. This way now."

"No! Dumbledore. Sir, you don't under-"

"I understand plenty, young man. You've been under a lot of strain. I've seen it before."

"No, it's not- not the exams."

Tofty grabbed Potter's arm and was towing him gently out of the room, Potter still gabbling.

"Back to your exams. Fifteen more minutes, everyone," Marchbanks called in her crisp voice.

Draco looked down at his test. It suddenly felt inane, senseless, a piece of paper only that could be burnt away without any effect on the greater scope of anyone's life.

He watched as Tofty returned and collected Potter's exam, rolling the parchment and sealing it with a spell.

He looked around at Granger and Weasley when they hurried from the Great Hall minutes later. Even Granger didn't seem to have her mind on the exam. They both looked anxious.

Draco followed them out more slowly, watched them disappear onto the first floor. He ought to have been celebrating. O.W.L.s were over; he was free from exams for the rest of the term, but he had a sinking feeling that the term was about to go downhill again.

"Reckon it had to do with him?"

Draco looked around. Blaise had appeared at his side.

"Yeah," Draco sighed, "I do."

Draco explained to Alana in an undertone what had happened at the Gryffindor table that night. Kari listened with interest. Ginny was no where to be seen, nor were Potter, Weasley, or Granger.

Draco feared going to bed that night. He worried that the Dark Lord would find him.

xxxx

The Dark Lord never came. Draco rolled over with a groan. Blaise was sitting up in bed, long arms wrapped around long legs drawn up to his chest. He was still in his pajamas, but the dark eyes that fixed on Draco seemed alert.

"What?" Draco wondered. He didn't like the intensity of Blaise's stare.

"Nothing," Blaise said, quickly looking away.

Draco was unconvinced and continued to eye Blaise's turned head till the African boy said into the strained silence, "Let's get breakfast."

Alana dashed over to him when he walked in the door. "Ginny's not back," she whispered, wrapping her hand in his. "Nor're any of the others: Harry, Ron, Hermione, or Neville. And Luna Lovegood's gone too. Draco-" She looked up into his face, her eyes lackluster and turning red at the edges; she'd not slept well either.

Draco reached out to touch her paler than usual cheek with the back of his hand. "They'll be all right," he lied.

"How can you know?"

Draco grimaced. "I don't, but Alana-"

She dragged him over to the Gryffindor bench, pulled him down beside Kari. Draco glanced at the short-haired girl, who stared back.

Alana wrapped her hand into the cotton of his sleeve. "Draco? What will he do to them? If it was him? If they got caught?"

Draco looked down into her anxious face. _Maybe I shouldn't have said a thing..._ "Alana, we don't even know that it had anything to do with him-"

"You said Harry's scar hurt. That always means-"

"It could mean nothing."

"It never has before."

"They'll be all right," Draco said again.

"How can they be when-"

"They're with Potter. Potter's survived this long. Even if they did run into him, which I'm not saying they did, why should this be the time he falls? Potter'll fight to the death and he's not letting any of his friends go before him, not if I know Potter."

"But Draco, Diggory-"

"Was the first and last. Stop worrying about the dragons before they hatch."

xxxx

At lunchtime, Alana arrived with the news that: "Ginny's back. And Neville. Harry came later. They came sneaking in through the portrait hole and disappeared up into their dorms. None of them will say a thing. Seamus and Dean said both Harry and Neville have the curtains drawn; they thought they were asleep. And Ginny said she'd rather curse us than talk about it. Draco- I think she was crying."

Draco almost hated himself as he asked: "And Weasley? Granger?"

"I- I don't know. Kari asked. Ginny said it wasn't Ron."

"But... Granger..."

Alana shook her head. "No one will say anything."

Draco looked around. "You said Lovegood was missing too..." But Looney Lovegood was at the end of the Ravenclaw table, a flock of people about her. "Maybe the Ravenclaws will know later..."

xxxx

By breakfast the next morning, word leaked out that Weasley and Granger were in the hospital wing. Little was seen of Potter, Ginny, or Longbottom, but they had all been seen, looking morose but unhurt. Lovegood let any rumor slide off of her like the Stinksap from Longbottom's _Mimbulus mimbletonia_. But even all these fresh rumors did not prevent Draco from catching his name in the murmurs that filled the hall like the soughs of the sea filled his bedroom in Malfoy Manor. If anything, he seemed to be evoking more stares than he had lately and the glares seemed more hostile.

"That's him."

"They look alike."

"Like father, like son."

Draco looked around at a tap on his shoulder, threw his hand into his pocket, the fingers brushing the handle of his wand. The stares put him on edge, put him in old habits.

Blasie stood behind him and he had a newspaper in his hands. He looked nervous. "Er, Draco? I think you had better read this." He held the newspaper out.

Draco took it from him, seeking answers in the dark eyes. Blaise looked quickly away, turned to slope back to the Slytherin table, so Draco instead looked down at the banner headline: "MINISTRY BREAK-IN LEADS TO DEATH EATERS' CAPTURE." Alana let out a gasp of "Break-in?" and leaned in to read too.

"_Though Aurors and Ministry representatives both refuse to comment, it is believed that the dozen Death Eaters apprehended early Friday morning were captured within the Ministry of Magic premises itself. One Ministry employee, who agreed to be quoted only after being assured anonymity, mumbled something about "tightened security" and "horrible embarrassment for the whole Ministry" when questioned. Despite the lack of verbal confirmation, the empty dais in the middle of the fountain that benefits St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which once held a collection of five bronze statues, seems evidence enough of a disturbance within the wizarding government headquarters._

"_Though the circumstances of the arrests have not yet been brought to light, the _Prophet_ can confirm that the Death Eaters captured include several of those who escaped from Azkaban in February. "It is a great relief to have these killers behind bars once again," said flustered Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, responsible for the infamous attack on Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom; Antonin Dolohov, convicted of the vicious murders of brothers Gideon and Fabian Prewett; Augustus Rookwood, a spy from within the Ministry of Magic-"_

Alana gasped. Draco looked around. She had a hand pressed to her mouth, but meeting Draco's eyes, she removed it to say, "Oh Draco... I'm so sorry..."

At his questioning glance, she pointed to a sentence further down in the article. _"Those arrested also include several wizards who have yet to be convicted of activity related to the Death Eaters. One such is philantropsist Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy was accused of having ties to the Death Eaters after the first fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but escaped charges. With this latest arrest, this reporter doubts he will escape Azkaban."_

Draco stared down at the paragraph, read it again uncertainly. He expected to feel something- some pang of sympathy or some rush of relief- Alana certainly seemed to think he ought to- but he felt nothing, not yet. His father, after all these years, had been caught and he, his son- Well, he was here, his father was there. There was as much distance between them now as there had been for at least the last few months.

Alana's hand was wrapped around his arm, he felt its light pressure there. She was much nearer him, and for the moment free of danger, maybe even freer now than she had been before. Whether his father approved or not, there was little he could do from-

But it was slowly sinking in. Regardless of how distant he and his father had become... Azkaban. The mere name of the wizard prison sent shivers through him. All the stories of darkness and a cold that sank into the blood and froze the marrow, wet air in the lungs, silence and stillness, screams at night, and the ghastly ghosts of the dementors drifting past the cells with their death rattles.

Draco didn't want to think about it. He put the paper down and looked up, looked around the Gryffindor table, the Great Hall. "Potter's still missing. And Weasley." _They'd want to gloat._

"What happens?" Alana asked quietly. "With your father in prison?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will your mother- Is she alone?"

"There're the house-elves. She'll be all right."

"You- you won't go back?"

"To the Manor? Mum wouldn't really be pleased to see me either, I don't suspect. Well, she might be- maybe- but if I go back... She wouldn't be able to keep me there, even if she wanted to. She'd have to bring me to..."

"You-Know-Who?" Alana supplied when the name stuck in his throat.

Draco nodded. "No. I'll go to the Weasleys. I'll go unhappily, but I'll go. It's better to live with them than to- well. Besides-" He stopped. He shouldn't, he realized, frighten Alana. Draco doubted his father, the Death Eaters would be in Azkaban long. The Dark Lord would want his servants back and if he had broken into the prison once, he could do it again. He would just have to talk again to Macnair, who had conveniently not been at the Ministry last night. Had he expected this? Either way, Alana didn't need to know about it.

"Besides what?"

Draco looked away, looked down the table. Ginny sat, head down, between her twin brothers, who wore expressions fierce enough, were so obviously clutching wands beneath the table that no one dared approach her. Longbottom was across the table and he seemed paler than usual, jittery. "Besides," he said, "the Weasleys are expecting me."

"Draco? Do you want to see them again? Your parents?"

" 'Want' has nothing to do with it. I can't see them again. Not now."

"But do you want to?"

Draco hesitated. "They're my parents, whatever else they are. I was raised to believe there is nothing stronger than the ties to blood." _Maybe that's one of the things the Dark Lord's upset about._ "They'll still be my parents, no matter what. I can't stop being what I am." _Their son, or the Dark Lord's. _ He missed being son to only one father.

_A/N: First, I need to apologize. The first full scene feels like it might be fluff to me, but Draco refused to let me delete it entirely (and I can't say I blame him), and my morals would not let me add the scene he wanted to the end because it would be both uncomfortable for me and unwieldy to the plot. It becomes a much better chapter, I feel, after that. At least, it actually moves the plot forward in the following scenes. Thanks for understanding a writer's plight._

_Yours forever, Tsona_


	18. A New Battlefront and Reinforcements

_A/N: I seem to write this so often... Again, my apologies for the delay. I hope it's worth it._

_Yours forever, Tsona_

No one saw Weasley or Granger till three days before the end of term. With classes ended for the fifth years, they avoided others easily. Draco, who while Alana was busy with her own exams, was also avoiding the school and stayed mostly in his own dormitory, where Blaise sometimes joined him, didn't see them till the end-of-term feast. While Kari gabbed to Alana about summer plans, Draco watched the two of them along the table. Granger and Weasley seemed all right, subdued but unscathed. They sat close to each other, heads tilted towards one another. Potter didn't join them; Potter had made himself even more scarce than his friends had.

"What do you think happened? Have you heard anything?" he asked.

"What?" Alana and Kari both looked around at him.

"With Potter. And the others."

Kari shook her head. "Tight-lipped, the lot of them. Ginny even. Luna even. You haven't heard-"

"I've heard nothing," Draco confirmed.

"I think they were at the Ministry that night," Kari confided. "Something happened. Did you see the blurb in the paper this morning? It was short, but it said Sirius Black died that night. No details, but I think-"

"Black died?"

"Yeah."

"He was Potter's godfather..."

Kari missed a beat. Alana blinked. Kari asked, "So, Harry wouldn't have taken him down fighting You-Know-Who?"

"How do you know that?" Alana asked Draco.

"All pureblood families are related. Mine happens to be pretty close to the Blacks. My mother was a Black."

"So whose side was Black on, then, if he was Harry's godfather?"

"So far as I know, Black was a pretty nice bloke and was an easy target for the blame. Mother never talked much about the, ah, less traditionally-minded members of the family and Black was never looked on well by the Blacks. To his credit, I think."

"Poor man!" Alana cried. "He was innocent? He wasn't a Death Eater?"

"Well-"

"They're calling Potter 'The Chosen One,' " Kari continued, watching Draco carefully. "They say You-Know-Who was after one of the prophecies at the Ministry, that the prophecy says Potter's the only one who can get rid of him."

Draco started and Kari beamed.

"No," he hurried, "I don't know if that's- I just had heard something about-" Draco was thinking about what Snape had said: _ "The Dark Lord heard a prophecy, Draco, sixteen years ago, a prophecy which concerned one boy who could be his downfall-" "Potter." "The Dark Lord puts much store in prophecy."_ But Snape had certainly implied that the Dark Lord knew about that particular prophecy; he had done- whatever he had done to Draco based on his hearing it. So surely it couldn't be the same one? Maybe _The Prophet_ was wrong. It would hardly be the first time...

"You think Potter is 'The Chosen One'?" Kari pressed.

"I think there's more to it than _The Prophet_ thinks," Draco answered truthfully after a moment, reaching for a roll and the jam to have something to do, something that would hide the still fading tremor in his hands.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Just more. It can't be that simple."

* * *

The next morning, the students of Hogwarts were taken by horseless carriage to the train station in the village. The scarlet engine sat waiting for them on the tracks, shrouding the shoddy station in great, billowing clouds of steam, and by nine o'clock Draco was being borne away to a summer holiday with the Weasleys.

He and Blaise had found a compartment by themselves and were spending languid hours on games of wizard's chess, which Draco won almost as a rule. It wasn't until after one o'clock that the door slid open and Alana stepped in, looking exhausted.

"Where've you been, Gryff?" Draco asked as he prodded his knight forward toward Blaise's pawn, which glared defiantly at the advancing conqueror.

"Talking to Ginny," Alana answered in a would-be-casual tone and coming to sit down beside him. "Trying to convince her to give you a chance this summer."

"How'd it go?" Draco asked tentatively, although from the look on her face, he was pretty sure he could guess.

Alana sighed and shook her head, dropping her act. "No luck whatsoever. She was in a compartment with Ron and Harry, who told me if I was there on your behalf, I'd do better talking to the wall."

"But you stayed?"

Alana offered him a weak smile. "Even if I talked to a wall, they couldn't help overhearing. And I think Hermione might actually have been listening with some interest, maybe even Neville. And Luna put in a word for you. But Ginny told me Snape would hand out candy before she'd trust you."

"Ah, well, can't blame them- any of them," Draco said with a sigh. He looked down in time to watch his knight drag Blaise's kicking and screaming pawn from the board.

"Draco!" Alana whined in protest.

"I don't expect them to forgive me. I really don't deserve it."

"But-"

Draco smiled, "Really, Gryff. I've already got two more friends than I ever thought I'd have."

* * *

The sun was on the horizon when the steam engine pulled into King's Cross.

"Well," Blaise said as he, being tallest, pulled down the luggage, "you can't say it hasn't been an interesting year."

"No," Draco agreed, hurrying forward to catch the end of one of the trunks and help Blaise lower it to the ground.

"Things were pretty dull till you turned up."

"Well, Blaise, so long as I made _your_ year."

"Oh shut up," but he was smiling.

Alana inched up to Draco and slipped her hand into his.

"Wait," Blaise said, throwing up a hand, "before you start snogging-" He bent over and flicked open his trunk. From inside he pulled a book and tossed it at Draco, who surprised, almost missed it, only caught it by reflex. "Still could be Seeker," Blaise mused.

Draco turned over the book. "What is it? I mean, specifically," he added, before Blaise could make a sarcastic retort.

"Novel," Blaise said. "Muggle novel," he relented. "Thomas gave-" Seeing Draco's blank look, he added, "Thomas was one of my mum's husbands. He gave it to me. He thought I was woefully undereducated." Blaise cracked a smile. "Say what you like against Muggles, but their literature is better."

Alana peered at the spine. "_Treasure Island_," she read. She straightened with a grin. "I've heard of that one."

Draco shook his head, with a smile. "How did I ever find myself in the company of such Muggle-lovers? God," Draco realized with a start, "my father would have me killed if he knew. Wouldn't even do it himself- wouldn't want to sully his hands with my tainted blood." He thought he felt a limb-stiffening cold steal over him as he looked at Blaise and Alana. "Maybe I should just stay on the train... Ride it back to Hogwarts... I mean, Dumbledore couldn't turn me out, could he? I don't mind being in that castle by myself... and there'll be the house-elves..."

Alana reached over to take him by the arm. "Come on," she said tugging him after her toward the door. "I don't think delaying this is going to make it any easier."

"But-"

Blaise shrugged as Draco was towed past him and out into the corridor. Blaise cleverly made the trunks follow them and they landed with a heavy _bang_ behind Alana and Draco on the platform.

Draco raised his wand and three trolleys started racing one another toward them.

"Hey! Fifth year!"

The trolleys screeched to a halt as Draco turned to see one of the Hufflepuff prefects not far from them.

"No magic outside school!"

Draco rolled his eyes and, with a pathetic look at his friends, went by foot to retrieve the panting carts. "I'll be so glad to turn seventeen," he muttered as he returned, the trolleys banging into one another, making an awful racket as he tried to steer all three.

"Thanks, Draco," Blaise said, taking one of the trolleys. He hoisted his trunk up onto it, then looked at the two of them. "Well, I suppose, then, I'll see you in September." He held out his hand. "I hope it's not as bad as you expect," he said as he and Draco shook hands.

"I don't think it will be," Alana told him, as she too took his hand. He lifted it to his lips and released her, Alana blushing, to cock a grin at Draco who felt a frown pulling without his permission at his mouth.

"I was raised well too," Blaise reminded him.

"In new money," Draco allowed. "But, I suppose I do trust you." The thought lifted the frown.

Blaise grinned in return. "Means a lot from you. Wouldn't dare cross the ex-Death Eater," Blaise laughed, ducking away. "Goodbye," he called as he wheeled the trolley away toward the crowd now pushing at the barrier. "Good luck!"

He left Draco staring after him, fighting off another frown.

"Never mind him," Alana said, pulling at his hand.

"You'll write me?" Draco asked as he followed her.

"Of course."

"I'll count on it," Draco warned.

"Just make sure you leave the bedroom occasionally, all right?"

Draco stopped, dragging Alana to a halt too.

"What?"

"Do you think I'll have to share a room? I never could. Not with Ron."

Alana frowned. "Not with Ron," she agreed. "I think if the Weasleys value their house they'll know better than that."

"But it must be such a small house," Draco mused, allowing himself to be towed forward again, but still dragging his feet.

"Compared to your manor. Compared to mine, I think it's quite large. It fits a family of nine, after all."

They crossed through the barrier into Muggle King's Cross and were jostled by a large group of teenaged Muggles towing suitcases on wheels. Draco looked up. Beyond the ticket barrier, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's red heads were bright as fire in the shafts of sunlight that struck them from behind. With them was Remus Lupin, a young woman with short, pink hair, and Mad-Eye Moody in a lime-green bowler. Draco looked quickly away. "They've brought an Auror," he mumbled. "They've brought Moody."

"I'm sure he isn't here for you."

Draco was unconvinced. He kept his eyes turned away from Moody, not wanting to be spotted, and away from Alana, not wanting her to see his doubt.

"King's Cross isn't exactly the most secure place. Maybe he's here to protect us all from-"

Draco started. "Mother!"

"What?"

Draco stared. His mother stood beyond the barrier too, looking frail and willowy alone, wearing a long black gown that made the white hair falling into her eyes, her face seem pale as a deadman's skin. She was some distance away from Moody and, from the uncomfortable glances she kept shooting the Auror, she was intentionally so.

"Alana," Draco whispered. "My mother's here."

"What? Where? Why?" Alana asked, turning to look.

Draco's mother looked up, her eyes met Draco's across the crowded platform and, with a ghost of a smile, she started forward.

Draco swore. "Alana," he said, grabbing her arms and tugging her around, turning her back toward his mother, hiding her face, "you have to go."

"But- Will you be all right?"

"It'll be fine. I know what I have to do- what I can't do. Just-"

Alana leaned forward and caught his lips in a kiss. "Write me back," she said, pulling away. "If I don't hear from you, I'll-" she paused, bit her lip in thought, "I'll write _The Prophet_. I'll tell them everything and they'll _have_ to send someone to save you."

Draco caught at her wrist again, pulled her back. "Never-" he said, "you can't tell anyone- Alana-"

"How will I save you- how will you get out of there if-"

"It'll be all right," he said again. "But you can't- ever." Over her shoulder, he could see his mother frowning as a family hurried by in front of her. "Go," he said again. "Please."

They clasped hands until the last second, their fingertips parting reluctantly. Alana watched him over her shoulder as she walked away, as she was beckoned on by Kari Ollivander, who, spotting Draco beyond her, gave him a wave and a grin before hurrying over to her parents.

Draco's mother was nearly upon him when he looked back.

"Mother," he said.

She came up to him and her paperwhite perfume seemed to fog his head, to wrap itself around him like a snake's coils. She held out her hand. "Draco. My Draco."

Draco flinched. "Don't call me that." It was the Dark Lord's name for him. He didn't take the hand she offered.

"You would deny your own mother?"

"I have to. Mother, what are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here? Why am I here every June? I've come to fetch you. To bring you home."

Draco was surprised when the words stuck in his throat, when they came out only painfully, only smally, pulled from him. "I'm not coming with you. I can't," he rasped.

"Draco-"

He tried to inject some confidence into his tone, lifted his head. "I've made up my mind, Mother. I know what I'm doing."

Her eyes narrowed, her expression hardened as she withdrew her hand. "I don't think you do."

"I do. I know who sent you here. I know why."

"You don't believe I could have come on my own?"

"Even if you did, which I don't think you have, you couldn't keep me from him, Mother. And I'm not going back to him. I have to run. I have to go where he won't look."

"Who do you think can protect you? Who better than your own mother?"

"Mother, you're too close to him. You can't escape him, either. I can't tell you. If I tell you, he'll find out and then..."

The anger fell from his mother's expression to be replaced by concern. She had always been beautiful in sadness; she was now. "Draco," she whispered, leaning toward her son, clasping a small hand on his shoulder, "you have to come with me. If you say you understand, surely then you understand- He wants you, Draco. He's sent me to fetch you. If I don't come back with you- He's already furious with our family. First you ran and then your father- Won't you come? For my sake?"

Draco couldn't keep the pain from his own face either. "Tell him you tried, Mother. Tell him I refused. He won't be surprised."

"He doesn't accept excuses. Draco, he'll-"

"Mother." Draco stepped back. Her nails dug for a moment into his shoulder before she let go.

"Where- where will you go?" she asked, her voice higher than usual, her eyes darting between each of his.

"Mother-" Draco closed his eyes, shut out the sight of her fear.

"Draco- he's taken your father from me already-"

"Father'll be back," Draco reminded her, a little bitterly. "If he broke into Azkaban once-"

"I couldn't bear to lose you too."

"Then you _have_ to let me go, Mother. It's my only chance. I can buy time if he can't find me. But I'm not joining him. I can't do what he'll ask. And he- he has no use for a broken wand," he said, repeating something the Dark Lord had once said to him. "Mother-"

She stared at him, her eyes wide, dark in her pale face. After several minutes, she nodded. "Go," she said, her voice breaking. "Go. I'll turn around."

"I'd rather you left altogether. That way you won't be tempted and you can't-"

"All right," she moaned. "All right. Just..." She caught his shoulders, held him, looking desperate. "Just be careful," she finished, her hands prying themselves from him. She turned and disappeared, not even bothering about the Muggle crowd.

Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned away.

"Where is she, boy?"

His eyes sprang open.

Mad-Eye Moody was leaning on a long staff, his green bowler askew over his magical eye. Draco didn't like not knowing where he was looking anymore than he liked watching the eye spin. He felt just as uneasy.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Gone."

Moody looked at the place where Draco's mother had been. "Seems that might be best for you. From what Dumbledore's told us."

"What're you doing here?" Draco was surprised by his own audacity, but was pretty sure Moody wouldn't turn him into a ferret in the middle of the crowded train station.

His crooked gash of a mouth looked even more sinister when he grinned. "Favor. For Potter."

"Potter asked you to come? To keep an eye on me?"

"Nah. Coming was Remus' idea."

Draco let his eyes slip past Moody to where Professor Lupin was now shaking hands with Ron. Ginny hung onto her father's hand. He was talking to a man and woman who had come forward out of the Muggle crowd. Fred and George were laughing with the pink-haired witch. Potter was wrapped in Mrs. Weasley's embrace.

Moody continued, "And while I was here, I thought I'd keep an eye on you. And a wand on your mother. Dumbledore wasn't sure if you'd get out of here easily."

"If you were worried, why'd you let her come near me at all?"

Moody grinned again and Draco fought the instinct to draw back. "Call it morbid curiosity. I wanted to see who would win."

"My mother or I?"

"Dumbledore or your old master. Believe me, I'd have acted if I had to. I'd rather modify memories now than have to try and steal from You-Know-Who later, but-"

"I wasn't going to go with her. I said I'd go with the Weasleys and I will."

"I heard the end of it, boy. Once you had her distracted enough that I could get nearer. Come on," he growled before Draco could question him further. "You said you'd go to them. Then we can get on with it."

"You don't trust me," Draco said as he followed Moody along the platform.

Moody chuckled. "There are very few people I do trust- very few, and you, Malfoy, are not one of them."

Potter stiffened in Mrs. Weasley's embrace as they approached. Maybe he had heard the offbeat _clunk_ of Moody's wooden leg, but he pulled himself away from Mrs. Weasley and turned on Draco, already glaring. Draco stopped, staring back, startled. Had Potter seen Moody move toward him? Was that how he had known Draco was nearby?

Mrs. Weasley looked from Potter to Draco and cleared her throat. "Draco," she said, moving forward and extending her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Draco looked at the hand. It was badly callused and there was earth beneath her fingernails. He hesitated before taking it and let her go quickly. "Mrs. Weasley." He added, only a little grudgingly, "Thank you for inviting me."

"Of course," she returned, but she was eyeing him carefully and with a growing disquiet.

Draco looked around at the others. He needed her, if not to like him, then to trust him at least. He needed some opportunity to ingratiate himself, some opening in the conversation. The Weasley children looked back at him with open dislike and distrust. Mr. Weasley was uncomfortably not meeting his eye again, nor was Lupin. Granger was biting her lip and the two adults behind her, whom Draco now guessed to be her parents (the man had a hand on her shoulder), looked at him in open confusion and a little curiosity. The pink-haired witch seemed even more curious. He felt like an animal on exhibit, pulled forward by a chain.

"Well- shall we do it, then?" Mr. Weasley said at last.

"Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur."

Draco jumped a little. He'd almost forgotten Mad-Eye Moody was behind him.

Mr. Weasley and Moody walked away and the majority of the crowd went with them, leaving only Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, the twins, Granger's parents, and Draco behind. Draco was remembering what Ron had said about strength in numbers as he watched them all walk away. Potter looked back over his shoulder as he went. Fred and George nodded to him before he looked away and the twins as one turned their glares on Draco, who turned his eyes to the floor.

In a few minutes, they all returned, except Potter and Moody. They were still too many for Draco. The pink-haired witch and Lupin were invited to dinner. Both politely refused. Granger hugged everyone goodbye and left with her parents.

"Draco?"

The Weasleys had begun to follow and he was still staring at his boots.

"Yes. Coming." His spirits were not lifted as he left the station for the sunny Muggle street, the warm London air, and were crushed even more by the Muggle taxis awaiting them.

_A/N: I took a few liberties with that last section, but it does of course line up with the final chapter of _OotP_, "The Second War Begins." Actually, these last two chapters have done so. I guess I wanted more space than JKR, who owns all of these characters, these brilliant situations. Mine are Draco's and Blaise's reactions- and Alana and Kari. If you'll allow me a small dance? I've been to King's Cross Station now. Often. I've even been to 9 3/4! I went and peeked at the space between platforms 9 and 10 (which is not where the sign for 9 3/4 has been erected) just for you before finishing up this final scene. :) Now, I realized not too long ago that if I plan on writing my original novel for my thesis project this upcoming school year, I really ought not to actually write any more of it this summer (in theory, theses start from a clean slate, but in actuality...). So, my lucky readers, I will be continuing my revisions with the sequel to this fanfiction, _And Then There Nine_ for the remainder of the summer. Updates will not be sent out via fanfiction's alert system till after chapter 12 (every fanfiction I have set out to revise has also ended up longer than its original, so I expect this one might as well become longer), but I will post in the summary of the story how far I have gotten in the edits. Cheers! And happy reading! (And reviewing perhaps? Please?)_

_Yours forever, Tsona_


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